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gojonanami · 2 months

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❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FAKE DATE SATORU GOJO WITH REAL FEELINGS? ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is the same age as gojo, set during s1 of jjk, fake dating hijinks, drunk! gojo, jealous! reader + gojo, implied satosugu (sorta, i see it more in a soulmate way, whether its platonic or romantic), switch! gojo, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, naoya makes an appearance, gojo clan elders suck, gojo's made up clan responsibilities,

✧ wc: 16,043

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 6 has been sold to @chuluoyi and an anon!

“C’mon, you don’t know until you try, sweetheart,”

You run at your temples, you didn’t need to feel burgeoning ache of a headache forming to know it was coming — but you knew it would whenever you met with this blue eyed idiot, “Satoru, the last time you said that, you nearly got me killed,” you didn’t care to re-live him sending you on a mission meant for him to take a grade 1 one curse, only to end up fighting two other grade 2 curses along with it.

You were lucky you made it by the skin of your teeth — and lucky that Shoko woke up when you showed up at her door, half dead.

“And this time, there’s no risk of death,” he grins, stirring his sugary drink that counts more as sugar than a drink, “that shows great personal growth, don’t ya think?”

“I think this conversation shows that just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have an ounce of common sense,” you mutter, as you sip at your drink of choice, “Gojo, I can’t marry you — for one, there would be a risk of death — yours,”

“Eh you wouldn’t be able to kill me — you’re far too—“ and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence, “kind,”

You rolled your eyes, “One of the traits you’re looking for in your future partner?”

“The thing is, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all — it would be a big sham!” He said with a thumbs up, as if that made it any better at all, “just for a couple weeks so I can fool the Gojo Clan into complacency and to stop the search for my future spouse — you’d be sparing the hundreds, no thousands, of possible candidates from facing the burden of my rejection,”

“And I suppose the fact that the clan would get off your back is just a fringe benefit?” You sigh, “Gojo, why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married?”

“I’ve tried — but the stubborn old geezers won’t budge — I’m caught between a rock and a hard place — and you know me,” his lips curl, “I’m a lover, not a fighter,”

Yup, you have a headache now.

“What would we have to do to convince them we were together?”

Why were you considering this?

“Dates, a few public outings, meeting the geezers because they would insist, and you would need to show your face around the clan compound,” he lists off, sipping at his drink, “there may be other things, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” You may jump off a bridge by the time this is over and done with, “what do you say?”

“I have two questions,” and he leaned back in his chair, back and forth, impatience personified, “how long would we have to do it?” You didn’t want to be stuck in this arrangement for an undisclosed amount of time, but the second question was far more important, “ And why me?”

“Three months, maybe longer,” you gape at him, “I can pay you?” you raise an eyebrow, “I will pay you,” you sigh, “and choosing you was easy because—“

“If you make some sort of joke about me being single, I don’t care if you have infinity, I’ll find a way to murder you,” you grumble.

“Because you’re a sorcerer, you’re from a minor clan — so you’re an acceptable choice, and I trust you — you’re one of my closest friends,” he adds, for once his words are deprived of any humor.

And that answer was…almost worse than the joke. The word “friend” stuck in your side like a thorn you could never pull out, festering and growing until it had become a part of you — that ached only when you thought of it.

Your feelings for him, they were still there? You thought you had discarded them years ago, thought it was safe for you to move back to Tokyo from Kyoto, thought you had finally left that childhood crush behind — dead and buried — but here it was, still stubbornly clinging to life.

And now it would thrive with new roots, stems, leaves, and buds if you agreed to this.

He said your name, “Well?”

He remains as inscrutable as always, But you could never say no to him, could you? “Okay, fine,” it would also help you out in the form of another problem of Naoya Zenin who had been nothing but persistent since you came back…but you didn’t want to dwell on that. Your eyes find Gojo’s again — as they always did.

It was why you had left for Kyoto in the first place.

“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, as the servants that served the Gojo clan fussed over your clothes — it was a traditional kimono in the colors of your clan — a deep indigo, embroidered with white koi fish that swam along the fabric, embroidered with waves. You supposed you were only grateful that Gojo didn’t leave you to get dressed yourself.

Gojo watched as they adjusted the obi around your waist, and your eyes remained fixed ahead, but your gaze couldn’t help but wander to him. Satoru Gojo was always unfairly gorgeous — there was a reason people fawned over him even when he had just rolled out of bed without even a once over at his appearance — but those same people probably would have passed out if they saw him as he was now.

His formal wear was a sky blue — the same as his eyes, a coat draped over his shoulders and loose trousers of snow white that was a nod to hair of the same color. His hair remained unkempt as it always was.

“Gonna change into that but not comb your hair?” You remark, and he smirks, running a hand through his hair.

“Well I think if I start being too well behaved, they’ll know it’s fake,” and the word sticks in your chest like a dagger between the ribs, as the servants finally finish with your clothes, and you sigh.

You straighten yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror, “How is it only been a couple hours and I’m already exhausted?”

“The suffocating grip of old geezers and their backwards traditions would do that to you,” but his eyes linger on you, “but lucky for you sweetheart, it seems to suit you,”

“Do you have to call me that?” You murmur, cheeks warming, as you pretend to busy yourself with adjusting your clothes in the mirror.

“You have to get used to it,” his footsteps draw closer, heart battering against your ribcage as he does — surely, it would break free of its bony cage by the end of this, as he slides a shiny pendant around your neck — a sliver infinity with a singular small blue gem glinting in the middle — “after all, you are mine now, aren’t you?”

“Gojo, this is—“

“Satoru,” he reminds you, as his fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the necklace, “how will it look if someone overhears you calling me by my last name in private?” And your fingers brush against the necklace, toying with the pendant as you positioned it properly, “do you like it? I had it made especially,”

Especially — the lack of ‘for you,’ stuck out to you, as you force a smile on your lips, “it’s perfect — it will definitely sell the act,” and your eyes can’t find his as he adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your blindfold,” you turn to face him, “doesn’t it drain you not to wear it?”

“I can wear sunglasses sometimes — usually I get strange looks if I wear a blindfold in normal society — and here,” he pulls off the glasses as his cerulean irises seem to pierce your very form, “it reminds these old men who holds the cards here,” it was already hard enough for you to meet Gojo’s gaze as it was, it always felt as if he could stare right through you — and now, it felt as it your entire soul was beholden to him, “and as a bonus,” he draws close again, as he holds out his hand for your own. You resist the urge to bite your lip, inside giving your hand as he wished, and he lifts to his lips, before tilting his head to press the back of his hand to your cheek, “now I can look at my beautiful girlfriend unobstructed by these pesky eye coverings,”

You scoff, “You always have something to say, don’t you?” As you try and fail to move your hand away, “Gojo—“

“A good escort should never let their lady walk in without their hand being held, don’t you think?” And you sigh, as he leads you out of the frying pan and into the fire — you only hoped you wouldn’t be burned — your eyes sliding to Gojo again, fingers toying with the fabric over your chest — in more than one way.

“So you’ve gotten yourself a partner, eh, boy?” the elderly man sits with his eyes closed as he sips his tea, steam rolling off the surface in droves, but he seemed unbothered by the heat — perhaps because of the steam coming out of his ears, “I’m shocked,” you kept your gaze down, only had greeting him upon entering — stating your name and clan, before kneeling beside Satoru on a cushion.

“Shocked that someone like me could ever find my match? I know I’m truly one of a kind,” lips curled in that smirk that seemed to annoy almost everyone Satoru Gojo knew — including you — but no one showed the level of irritation that this man showed.

Gojo may be the head of the Gojo clan — but you supposed there were still people he had to answer too, if only due to age and tradition — the two very things Gojo hated the most.

“Why bother respecting those for aging when they haven’t done anything for me to respect?” he had said flippantly to Yaga one day during a lesson, “I rather die young than live to the age of these old coots without accomplishing a damn thing,” and then Yaga firmly smacked Gojo on the head right after, for disrespecting Gakuganji during the sister school exchange event.

And you had a feeling this meeting was about to go as well as that class did.

“Is this serious? Have you proposed?” and you have to keep a straight face, but your cheeks burn.

“Now, don’t embarrass me and my girlfriend,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “but this is serious — she’s the only woman I want to marry — and I’ll do anything to accomplish that,” he leans forward with a smile, squeezing your hand, “because I love her, and I only will ever love her,”

His gaze slides from Gojo to you, eyes boring into your skull, “and do you feel the same?”

You never have been one for lying — lying was an uncomfortable feeling that twisted and turned in your stomach like questionable leftovers that you took a gamble on eating, ones that wanted to come out the same way it went in. But you had learned with time because sometimes it was necessary for a sorcerer to lie, and when it was between telling a lie or dying, you’re forced to become quite adept at things you hate.

And you had learned, as you meet his hardened look, the best lies had some truth ingrained in them.

“I do, Satoru and I went to Jujutsu Tech together, and he’s the only man I ever loved,” perhaps it was too much truth, as you forced your voice to be steady, “he’s frustrating, irritating, full of himself—“

“You don’t have to be that honest—“ Satoru grumbled.

“But he’s also selfless, unendingly kind, a great teacher, and a good person, maybe even the best person I know,” you can’t bear to look at Satoru, “and he’s the only man I want to call my husband,”

The silence lingers in the room for a moment before the old man grunts, “I’ll believe it when I see it,”

“What kind of answer was that?” You asked as Satoru walked you back to the room, his fingers still laced with yours.

“It means we have to make him believe it — but he’ll at least stop arranging these meetings for me with prospectives,”

You raise an eyebrow, “and what will make him believe it?”

He smirks, as he tugs you a little closer, fingers under your chin, “I could kiss you right now, might sell the act,”

“No one can see us,”

“Someone’s always watching,” he murmurs, leaning far too close as your breath catches, eyes widening before they flutter shut and you wait. But instead his lips brush your forehead, followed by a flick, “gotcha,”

Your eyes snap open in a glare, “Gojo!” And he’s cackling.

“Satoru,” he corrects, as his hand leaves yours as he opens the sliding door to the room, “you coming?”

You pout, rubbing your forehead, as you brush past him — this was going to be a long few weeks.

“Why do I even have to go to this?” You were being led through a bustling mall, his arm around your waist, as if to prevent you from escaping (good idea). Your lips twisted in a grimace, you allowed him to drag you along, knowing him, he would carry you over his shoulder without a hint of shame (you don’t think he even contained the word shame in his own vernacular), “can’t you go and wear a ring and go by yourself?”

“A ring is not as good as having you on my arm now is it?” he bumps you with his hip, “plus, we’re not engaged yet, unless this is a proposal,” he raises an eyebrow, and your cheeks burn.

“Shut up, I’d never propose to you,” he laughs, but it’s almost strained.

“Never propose to me like that right? Because I deserve a better proposal than that,” he sighs, leading you into a store, “come on, we have to find you a nice outfit for the wedding,”

You glance at the store, your jaw dropping, “Gojo, this store is so expensive, I can’t afford this—“

He lowers his sunglasses just to show you that he’s rolling his eyes, “Who said you’re paying, Princess?” You stare at him, slack jawed, while a salesperson comes up to the two of you — though she’s clearly only interested in one of you.

“Hi, what can I help you with finding today?” her lips curled in a smile, as she twirled a strand of her around her fingers, “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” her gaze completely fixed on Gojo, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment for you to spare.

You bite back a scowl, plastering on a fake smile, as you lean into Gojo, “My boyfriend is looking to buy me an outfit for a wedding we’re attending — baby, could you tell her what style you want me to wear?”

Gojo glances at you, a flicker of surprise that is quickly covered up by a smirk, his arm tightening around your waist, “Yes, I have to make sure my sweetheart is looking her best — so can you please find these styles of dresses for me?” You can’t help the smile on your lips as the salesperson shuffles away, lips a thin line rather than the grin she once had.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Gojo chuckles, and you roll your eyes, hoping your expression didn’t give your heart away, the feelings you had stuffed into a crevice of your chest that threatened to burst.

So you choose to turn it on him instead, as you meet his gaze with a small smirk, “I don’t like people taking what’s mine,”

But he only takes it in stride, only as Gojo can, “I’m yours, huh?”

You shrug, choosing to hurt yourself rather than let him do it, “at least for the next two to three months,” and your gaze snaps away and looks to the saleswoman as she comes back with a selection, “if you get to choose my dress, I get to choose a suit for you, deal?”

Gojo raises an eyebrow, but smiles, “Anything for you, princess.”

“You just wanted to see me model for you, didn’t you?” Gojo emerges from the changing room in a black button down and white suit coat with a matching white tie — as he tilts his head, “I would say my best suit is my birthday suit,” and you grimace, “oh c’mon, it was a good joke, although—“

“Don’t say it’s true,” you lean back, phone in hand as you snap a picture as you did for the last three, “I love to see that self confidence of yours has grown into full blown arrogance,”

“How can I not be arrogant when I see you snapping pictures of me?” He crosses his arms, the fabric taut and straining over his chest, the top button undone, showing off the adam’s apple that bobs in his throat, “it’s definitely a step up from when you ignored me,”

You snap from your thoughts, “When did I ignore you?”

“When we graduated Jujutsu Tech, you’d spend time with Nanami or spend a weekend with Shoko, but whenever I was around, you wouldn’t even reply to a text,” your eyes fall to the floor, chewing your lip, “it wasn’t always like that — I thought we were close,”

It was true — but it wasn’t because you hated him. It was the opposite. You had tried to be his friend, but the more you were his friend, the more it hurt — hurt to see him smile at you like everyone else, hurt to see him with his eyes on the one he wanted, and with his arm around Suguru.

And you really didn’t hate Suguru — it was the opposite really — you thought they were perfect, a person who grounded him, made him a better person, and with a much tighter grip on reality than Gojo did — perhaps too tight. Too tight that it shattered apart in his hands, the pieces too far gone to pick out — and too far gone to save him.

You tried to be there for him — knock on his door when you knew he was home and force him to shower while you and Shoko cleaned up his room. You stayed even when Shoko had long left, holding his hand as he hid his tears from you with his back turned, and you didn’t admit you could hear his nearly silent tears. But eventually, it turned into movie nights, meals shared, and even grocery runs.

And it became harder and harder to hide how you felt — each minute spent with him was another drop in a bucket that was already overflowing to begin with. At first it had been a crush — an unattainable crush that you were happy to leave at just that. But eventually, it became so much more — you had fallen in love with him, when you really shouldn’t have. Because he didn’t need a partner — he needed a friend.

“Gojo, I didn’t ignore you—“

“I’ve called you sweetheart, did your number change and then magically change back when you came back to Tokyo?”

But once he had pulled himself together, you were graduating and you requested to be put in Kyoto — your excuse being you were tired being in the city — but to Satoru, you gave no excuse, you quietly left without a word. Because you were really tired of having your heart broken — so you needed space, and you were willing to do anything to get it.

“Gojo, I didn’t really talk much to Nanami or Shoko when I left either, I just needed space—“

“Space from what?” You sighed, parting your lips when his phone rings. He checks it before taking it, “another mission? Yeah, I can leave tonight,” you bit your lip, “send Ijichi to take me to the airport. Yeah, ok,” and he hangs up, “we’ll have to cut this short. I have to go overseas,”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Probably just a few days. I’ll be back soon,” you bite your lip, and he tilts his head, “you worried about me, Princess?”

You flush, opening and closing your mouth, “I am,” and he blinks, seemingly surprised, “come back safe. Text me to let me know when you land,”

His lips curl, as he ruffles your hair, “I will — and I’ll be back soon enough. Promise,” and he pauses, “you want a souvenir?”

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and your cheeks warm.

And just then, he gets a text, “Ijichi Is almost here. I’ll have him drop you back first,” and he turns to change out of his clothes.

“Satoru,” you catch him by the sleeve, and he pauses, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you after all of that. It had nothing to do with you, there was just a lot going on—“ he says your name, but you shake your head, “but it won’t happen again, I promise,”

“Good,” he steps back into the changing room, a grin on his lips, “I wouldn’t let you get away this time anyway, sweetheart.”

“Gojo?” You say again, and he tilts his head, “get the indigo suit,”

He grins, “and you have good taste, well, of course you do,” he holds the door open, “I am your boyfriend after all.”

And the door of the fitting room swings shut, and you hope he’s not looking at you, as your cheeks burn, your heart squeezing in spite of every thought of your mind telling not to go there — not to go down that road, but you should have known, the moment you said yes to this plan—

You were already there.

You had never known that the buzz of your phone could make you more happy — or anxious.

But it had been over the course of the last few days. Because you’re probably an idiot, but that wasn’t the point.

how bad of an idea would it be for me to try this Karanga and Chapati place that Yuta recommended?

You snorted, Satoru, the last time you had curry — that wasn’t even that spicy, you couldn’t taste anything for a week.

Another buzz, But Yuta said it’s not so bad

You roll your eyes, imagining the pout he undoubtedly has on his lips — Yuta has never seen you cry over a bowl of curry — stick with your desserts, and you chuckle as you add: you may be the strongest but you have the weakest taste buds

It takes some time for another response to come — and when it does, you realize a grave error on your part was made: never point out any flaw to this idiot because he will take it as a challenge.

This is Yuta — Gojo-sensei tried it and he’s now in the bathroom. He told me to tell you he’d text you later.

This was how the last few days flew by — texts with updates about his mission, his work, and his check-ins with Yuta. And the night before he was flying back, just as you were cooking dinner, he called you—

“Gojo? Isn’t it 2:00 AM there right now?”

“You learned the time difference for me?” you heard his words slur over the other line, “Sweethearttttt,” I went out with Yuta and Miguel, and I may have gotten a littttttle tipsy,”

“Isn’t it like 2:00 AM there?”

He clicks his tongue, “Miguel challenged me to a drinking contest,” and you groan, rubbing a hand down your face, “but they got me back into my hotel room, even though I’m not tired,” he mumbles, as you hear the crinkle of his bedsheets and the rustling of his comforter.

“Have you drank water? How much alcohol did you have?”

“Are you worried about me?” he giggles, before sighing, “I’m glad,”

“Why are you glad?” You hold the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you stir the pan with your dinner currently in it.

“Because it means you care about me,” he murmurs, “everyone who cares about me always leaves,” he gives a small bitter chuckle, “maybe it’s better for you not to care about me. It’s dangerous to care about someone like me — the type to die young or live far too long,”

“Gojo—“

“Satoru,” he mutters, voice growing thick with sleep, “call me Satoru,” and his soft snores fill your ear as he falls into the sandman’s grasp — a small reprieve from his feelings — while you were left to dwell in them.

All this time you had been thinking how you felt, what you were dealing with, what you wanted — and all these years and you hadn’t thought about how your actions made him felt. You thought he was beyond any hurt you could possibly inflict — his infinity meant that he was leagues above anywhere you could possibly reach — but it didn’t.

He wasn’t. He was a person — and when had you stopped treating him as one?

You texted Yuta: make sure your sensei is lying on his side and make him drink some water. And don’t let Miguel goad him into drinking ever again.

Yuta: got it. sorry about that sensei — gojo wouldn’t listen

You scoffed, chuckling at how Yuta called you sensei but did not afford Gojo the same courtesy.

You stayed on the phone with Gojo, hearing Yuta come in and persuading him to drink some water, before he fell back asleep, but even in his drunken state, he wouldn’t give up his phone — Yuta snapping a picture and sending it to you. You laughed when you saw it — loml with a dozen hearts and a picture of you in your obi, clearly taken when you weren’t looking, but it wasn’t those things that made you laugh — it was the way Gojo clung to his phone, fingers wrapped around it desperately, as he slept.

You stayed on the phone with him all night, even when you went to bed — of course just to make sure he’s fine — the call waking you when it disconnected after reaching the max call time. Your eyes flutter open, glancing at the time — 5:00 AM. And almost like clockwork, your phone rings again, Gojo’s number flashing on your screen.

You pick up, “Mm, hello?” you yawn, “finally awake sleeping beauty?”

“Glad you finally decided to acknowledge my beauty,” his voice is gravelly, thick with sleep, and god, you can’t help but imagine waking to this voice every day — “ugh I have a headache,” he murmurs, the crumple you hear must be him burying his face in his pillow because the next question he asks is muffled, “why were we on the phone?”

“You called me last night after drinking, and refused to hang up after Yuta helped you get settled,” you chuckle, as you hear his groan over the phone, “I got a new contact picture for you out of it, love of my life,”

“Glad you’re finally on board,” he mutters, growing quiet, “why didn’t you hang up?”

You pause, “what do you mean?” You ask slowly.

“You could’ve hung up at any time, but you stayed on the phone, even when you fell asleep,” his voice was soft, “why?”

“I just,” you bit your lip, you couldn’t lie to him, at least not completely, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you didn’t want to hang up — so I didn’t,”

He’s silent for a moment, and you almost wish you could sink into the Earth — but he only says, “okay, now what’s the plan for the day, Princess?”

Your lips curl, “Well my day has not really began yet since it’s 5:00 AM here, so I’m probably going to sleep for several hours and wake up at an hour that is not bereft of god,”

“You really couldn’t just say ‘ungodly?’” He snorts.

“Well, 5:00 AM makes me wax poetic, what can I say?” Another yawn parts your lips, “I’m going to sleep,”

But he doesn’t hang up, “I’ll be here, sweetheart.”

You glanced at the time, he’s late.

Well, he wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t make an entrance. You slumped on the couch — even if he was getting home from his mission, there was no guarantee he’d stop by your place to see you. He might want to just go home — or stop by Jujutsu Tech, or be anywhere else. You couldn’t have expectations — expectations were only a way to be disappointed, a drop from soaring that would only be met with the impact of the cold, unforgiving ground.

Especially expectations from a fake relationship. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling — why were being such an idiot about this? The TV drones on in the background, illuminating the dark of the living room, as you sit barely paying attention to a random rom com you had picked.

Maybe it was because Satoru had spent the rest of today on the phone with you, even through a security check (warning the security officers not to hang up his call) and at the gate. And then every day after that, he had called and texted you like clockwork — stupid things— good morning and good night, random memes that made him think of you, pictures of his day (including ones of him messing with his students), questions of what sweet you wanted from the shop he had decided to frequent, calls about your day and his own, and hours long conversations about nothing at all. Maybe because you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you — or maybe it was because you were just down bad.

It was probably the latter.

You take a throw pillow and pull it over your face. What were you thinking? Falling for your old crush and fake boyfriend a night before a wedding was a trope in a bad rom com that you spent your weekend night watching — it shouldn’t be how you feel.

“That’s a nice look,” you jump, pulling the pillow away, to be met with Gojo’s gaze hidden behind another pair of sunglasses, “honey, I’m home,”

You bite back your smile, “one, this isn’t your home, and two, how did you get inside?”

“It’s pretty easy when you can teleport, you should try it sometime,” he sits beside you, more like collapses as he falls into the couch, his head resting against the top, “although if someone moved in with me, it’d be much easier,” and you laugh.

“Shouldn’t you ask a girl out before you ask her to move in?” he shrugs, his arm resting across the top of the couch.

“I’m anything but traditional,” he sighs, glancing at the TV, “what are we watching?”

“A bad rom com,”

He snorts, “watching it to mercilessly pick it apart?” And you raise an eyebrow, “what? I did stay awake for some of those movies— it was some of my favorite memories during that time and some of the only times I could actually sleep,”

“Yeah, it was a nice way for both of us to turn our brains off for a bit,” you glanced at him, “thought it’d be nice for us too,” his gaze slides to you curiously, “I know there’s been a lot on your mind — with itadori and the special grades,”

He sighs, running fingers through his hair, “Yeah, old geezers seem to cause problems in all parts of my life,” you snort, “can’t believe they’d try to do away with Itadori while I was gone,”

“They don’t see anyone as innocent — they see whether you’re an asset or a threat, unfortunately, they see Itadori not as the former,” you shake your head, as your eyes stare at the movie flashing on the screen, but you don’t really watch, “they’re too far gone to see the innocence of children,”

“You sound like Kento,” and your eyes meet his, his cerulean gaze already on you, his sunglasses discarded on your coffee table.

“Funny, thought I sounded like you,” he blinks a moment, “Satoru, you’re all about preserving the youth of children — that’s why you saved Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji — even when you had every reason not to,”

“How could I not? Youth belongs to the young after all,” a wistful smile on his lips, “i don’t want the same to happen to them that happened to us,”

“To us,” you repeat, a sharp pain sticks between your ribs at the flash of Haibara’s smile and the whisper of Suguru’s laugh, “more like to them,”

“Yeah,” a silence falling over the two of you as the white noise of the TV filled the quiet, “but sometimes I think we went down along with them,”

You shake your head, “I think a part of us did — a part of us will stay there—“ frozen in time and seeping like poison in our bones, “but we’re still here,” you risk to toe the line you’d never cross, your fingers brushing his, “and it’s not over for us,”

And his eyes flicker to your fingers threaded with his, as his fingers squeeze yours slowly, the corner of his lips quirk upwards, as you stretch and sit up, fingers falling away from his, a yawn on your lips, “should we get some sleep?”

“Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he murmurs, even though sleep seems to weigh heavily on his body, eyelids fluttering shut as he turns to you, cheek pressed against the couch, “hey,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t the movies that let me relax,” and you can hear the unspoken meaning in those words — but that was the problem.

It was unspoken.

Your fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to brush your fingers against his cheek — but you can’t.

You’d allowed yourself to toe the line you’d long drawn in the sand that you’d built into a wall — you had even allowed yourself to stir a few bricks from its place, but you couldn’t cross it. Not now.

Your eyes are growing heavy. Maybe not ever.

Your neck hurts.

The first thought you have as you rouse into aching consciousness. Why was it so bright? Did you forget to draw your curtains? You draw an arm over your face, already dreading the waking hours, until you realize it’s your day off, and you sigh, relaxing into your bed.

Or what you thought was your bed.

Except your bed couldn’t move, nor could it pull you closer. But now something or someone was, an arm around your waist with movement behind you that made breath warm your ear. And you probably would have screamed, if you hadn’t heard the familiar voice whisper your name in your ear.

Gojo.

Gojo???

Your head slowly turned to be met with the strongest sorcerer very much passed out, half behind you, half on top of you — his blue eyes hidden under his eyelids for once instead of any covering that he used to protect himself. His snowy white locks brushed against your skin, the close proximity doing nothing to alleviate your feelings — you had only hoped you could see one flaw, one ick, and maybe you’d be done. But on Satoru Gojo? The man born to be perfect — the same one who sang karaoke for the first time as a teen only to be so incredible that it moved your server to tears?

You really should have fucking known better.

Your breath caught, and you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment—if no one had, you would surely be the first case. You were always a trail blazer.

And you tried to shift again, if only to maneuver yourself out of this situation, but he moved along with you, seeking out the contact he was losing. And this only ended with him lying on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his legs straddling one of your legs— and then you felt it — a very distinct bulge pressed against your thigh.

Fuck. Your. Life.

He mumbled in his sleep, nose brushing against the hollow of your neck, drawing another shiver from your body. You had a rare opportunity to touch him — didn’t you, no infinity between the two of you — just him and you. You were in a position probably many desired to be in — admirers and enemies alike (neither category being mutually exclusive). You supposed old habits die hard — and so did old crushes.

Could you let yourself enjoy this for a moment? Enjoy the feeling, no matter how real it never would be? Maybe it was wrong, but — your eyes fluttered shut as your arm wrapped loosely around Gojo — you certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake up first.

And you weren’t — your eyes flutter open to movement, and your eyes meet cerulean eyes, lips parted in surprise, “Morning,” he manages, a flush of pink coloring his cheeks, “did we fall asleep?”

“I guess we did,” you bite your lip, “are you going to—”

And he blinks, before scrambling off of you, “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he turns away to fidget with his phone.

“Guess that was one very boring movie,” you murmur.

“Or I was in a very comfortable bed,” he replies with a smirk that turns to a grimace.

“What is it?”

“Naoya Zenin is making an appearance at the wedding we’re attending tomorrow,” and you groan, as he raises an eyebrow, “how many proposals had he made you?”

You scoff, “Proposals? More like propositions,” you shake your head, already aching from the sleep you had barely shaken off and now it had graduated to a shooting pain that made your eye twitch at the thought of that man, “he’s offered to do me the ‘honor’ of being the next heir’s husband half a dozen times. If he ever becomes the head of the Zenin clan, I may help Maki annihilate them myself,”

Naoya Zenin — the most pretentious and egocentric man you had the displeasure of meeting. Even his pretty face could do nothing to fix his hideous personality ridden with misogyny, hatred, and spite. And you’d been offered his hand in marriage half a dozen times due to your lineage in a lesser known clan family with a unique cursed energy. It was a strategic move to try and secure his place — as was every move he made — he had no room for anyone he deemed useless to his plan.

Unfortunately, you did not fall into that special category.

“That won’t happen,” Gojo replies, texting on his phone, “plus, he’s too weak to force that to happen — not to mention he’s a first class prick,”

“You say that, but you basically propositioned me,” you teased, as his eyes flit up from his phone, as you rise from the couch, “quite the proposal you came to me with,”

He pauses a moment, a small smile on his lips, “one, i don’t recall proposing, and trust me that’s something I’d remember,” and you roll your eyes, “and two, aren’t you just as bad, since you said yes, sweetheart?”

“Can you blame a girl wanting a little extra money?” And he locks his phone, drawing close, your breath catching as he lets himself linger for a second too long.

“Can you blame a man for wanting a beautiful and intelligent woman?” And he’s leaning close, but he leans back, only grabbing his coat from the couch, still slung over as it had been. He spares you a smirk at your bewildered expression, “close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, princess, and what a shame that would be,” you scowl, and he laughs as he heads to the door, slipping on his shoes, with a final glance and grin thrown over his shoulder as he opened your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Right. Tomorrow. The wedding.

Fuck. You were so screwed.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Fuck. You scrambled from your vanity as you finished putting the finishing touches on your look for tonight. You didn’t think Satoru Gojo of all people could ever be on time, but you supposed there was a first time for everything.

You slipped the dress over your head, careful not to smear your makeup or mess up your hair. You were starting to regret not having the Gojo family’s attendants get you ready for this event, if only so you could have turned your mind off for this time. But you knew all too well that your mind could never give you a break — with all of that free time came free real estate for your anxiety to set up camp and put down roots for all the things that could possibly go wrong. So it was better this way, as you reach for the ties on the back of your dress — of course, maybe if you had let yourself be helped, you could actually have someone to tie your corset back on this dress.

Another knock.

“Sweetheart?” You hear Gojo’s muffled voice through the door, “you’re not planning on standing me up are you?”

You stumble your way to the door, clutching the back of your dress, as you take a breath and throw it open, “Can you tie the back of my dress?”

Fuck. He looked gorgeous. His hair was parted and combed off to the side, a deep blue suit coat and a crisp white collared shirt tucked into a matching suit pant. A pair of sunglasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket in front of a white pocket square.

“No hello, ‘can you tie my dress?’” Gojo tilts his head, his eyes graze over your appearance, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, “turn around,” And you do, fingers still clutching at the fabric at the back of your dress, cheeks burning as you do, “gonna have to let go, and let me help you, sweetheart,”

You slowly let go, but his warm fingers brush against the skin of your bare back as he holds the dress up from slipping, carefully lacing the corset, “I was right, blue is your color,” he murmurs, as he tugs lightly at the strings, “let me know when it’s tight enough,”

“It’s good now,” you sigh — though the corset wasn’t as tight as your chest now, you face him now, trying to adjust your hair.

“Let me,” one hand cups your chin gently, your breath catching and you can only hope he can’t feel your pulse through your skin. His fingers run through your soft tresses, your eyes unable to meet his — but you wonder if he can see right through you anyway — “you’ve never been good at asking for help,”

“Look who’s talking,” you glare at him, as he chuckles, “well, I asked you didn’t I?”

“Why did you ask me?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you could have asked anyone,”

“Well, I didn’t want just anyone,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the blush you had lined your cheeks with, “I wanted you,”

“Why?” And he parts his lips, a soft smile that pulls at his features — was it a hint of pink across his cheeks.

“Because—“ and your phone goes off — a reminder with the time of the wedding. And the moment’s broken, as reality settles over you again, “We’ll be late,”

“I don’t mind being late,” and a heat burns from his touch, from the tips of your fingers to the his fingers leave your cheek, warmth fading as quickly as it came, but he offers his hand, “but if it’s for you, I can be on time,” and your fingers find his, interlacing, before he tugs you close, his arm around your waist, “as long as you stay by my side.”

You never were one for weddings. At least not one like this.

A stuffy event held in an extravagant manner — a large banquet hall for the reception, but now the guests roamed the gardens the hall opened out into — lush greenery serving as a perfect backdrop for this wedding — a distant branch of the Zenin family was marrying, which meant all of the main clans were invited to attend. Including several elders of the Gojo clan.

And now you were being subjected to this as well — several dozen eyes on you — all due to the man whose arm you were on. His arm wrapped almost protectively around your waist, his lips nearly brushed against your ear when he whispered in it, letting you know just exactly who was coming over.

“I didn’t think you were one to care for remembering these things,” you wave at the couple that just left the two of you, his fingers grazing the skin behind your ear as he tucked a stray strand behind it.

“I usually don’t care, but I know it’d make you uncomfortable otherwise, especially among all these people,” he smirks, his fingers finding yours, and squeezing, “plus, we need to make a good impression, don’t we?”

“I think we’re making an impression just by being together,” you murmur, and he raises an eyebrow, “everyone’s staring — didn’t you notice?” and he shrugs, a sly smile on his lips.

“Didn’t notice,” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on you, “I was too busy looking elsewhere, I guess,”

Your cheeks burn, but as your lips part to respond, you see him walking over to the discreet corner you had parked yourselves in, “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around his.

Naoya Zenin strides over in a black yukata kimono, his silver hair pushed back, his lips twisted in a slimy smile that made your skin crawl, your name leaving his lips, “it’s been far too long, you’re looking lovely,” his eyes raked over you like hot coals, “though the company you keep—”

“Has improved markedly,” Satoru’s lips curl in a grin, “do you have business with my girlfriend?”

Naoya raises an eyebrow, “Girlfriend?”

Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, “I didn’t realize you went hard of hearing — I know your hair had started to go, but your hearing too—” you hid your snort poorly, Naoya’s sharp gaze flickering between the two of you.

“I’m younger than you are, and my hair is bleached,” he snaps, “or are those six eyes not sharp enough to see that as well? They certainly aren’t enough for you to have found Suguru Geto before he caused a war,”

And Satoru’s hurt is imperceptible — a hint of hurt that only shows in the tightness of his jaw for a millisecond, before he’s only giving another laugh.

“At least I am already the head of my clan, because even if I were without my six eyes,” he smirks, but a certain meanness pulls at his features, “I’m still not as weak as you are—”

Naoya’s expression sours, curdled into a foul scowl, “What did you—”

“Alright,” you hold up your hands, “Let’s save the dick measuring contest for later, okay? This is a wedding, let’s not cause a scene, ok?” you glance between the two of them, and Satoru pouts — while Naoya seems all too pleased, a grin broken across his lips.

“This is why you’re the perfect woman — you know how to mediate between men’s egos, and—”

“Naoya, I said let’s not cause a scene, and you’re two steps away from me causing one right now,” you snap, “I wasn’t interested the first dozen times you asked me when I was single, so why would you think I’d be interested now, when I have a boyfriend?”

His face flushes red, and you’re not sure whether it’s in anger or embarrassment, “I doubt you’re even really a couple,” he hisses, “I know all about the proposals that this idiot has been getting and the pressure to marry,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sure you’ll come running to me once he’s done using you—“

Satoru surges forward, but you press a hand against his chest, “We don’t need to justify our relationship to you, so think what you want — but even if Satoru and I break up, I rather die single than ever spend a minute with you,” and you look at Satoru, your gaze softening, “and I rather spend be single for the rest of my life than spend another minute without him,” and you slide your eyes back to Naoya, his fists clenched, as you lean in, “so fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the staff begin to wave everyone into their seats, and the wedding begins. The two of you sit, a silence falling over as others take their seats beside you. A subtle tension as music filled the air and the wedding proceedings began—but you could have cared less— god what the fuck had you said to Naoya? How had Gojo taken it? Does he know how you feel? Does he think it’s an act?

Then his fingers find yours, “Thank you,” he whispers softly, managing only those two words before the wedding begins.

And it dawns on you — it wasn’t what you said, it was the fact you had defended him, your heart aches, it was the fact you had defended him when Naoya insulted Suguru.

Your eyes stay fixed forward as the ceremony begins — it was never about you — as you pulled your fingers away from him.

Like it always never was.

The wedding ceremony goes by — as does the reception, without much to-do. The only silver lining is that there’s far too much small talk for the two of you to have a moment to talk alone, especially when the two of you spot the Gojo clan elders side-eyeing you from the table of old folks, not to mention Naoya hovering around that same table, the same scowl on his face. The only remark that Satoru whispered as the two of you floated by the table pointedly, a smirk on his lips as he waved and held you close to his side — “one quick hollow purple could solve my problems,”

You gave a forced chuckle at that — unfortunately not yours.

And finally, the two of you head home — in relative silence, the drive being short to Gojo’s apartment, where your car was parked. You sigh as he pulls in, “I’ll head out I guess—”

“Why don’t you just stay the night?” and your gaze snaps to his, the first time all night, “it’s really late, and I have a guest room—”

“My apartment isn’t—”

“Your apartment isn’t far, but I thought we could…talk,” and your heart gallops to a start — talking was the last thing you wanted to do.

“What is there to talk about?” And his fingers brush against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Maybe about why you can’t meet my eyes?” You huff, looking away.

“Can you blame me? Your blue eyes are freaky,” you grumble, and you can hear the judgment in the silence, a first for Gojo, “Gojo, what do you want me to say?”

He stays quiet for a moment, “You don’t have to say anything, just come inside,” So you do — following him inside, the silence hanging over you like a guillotine waiting to slice, “Thank you for what you said—“

The door clicks behind him, as you stop, “Gojo—“

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you’re shaking your head.

“You don’t have to thank me, I was just—“

“But what you said—“

“I said what I had to—“

“You didn’t have to say all that, Princess,” his voice grows soft, “you know you didn’t,” and he’s drawing closer across his living room.

“He was upsetting you,” you murmur, eyes unable to find his again, falling instead to his plush carpet laid against his hardwood, “I couldn’t stand by and let him — I know it hurt when he brought up Suguru—“

“Suguru?” he repeats, and your eyes find his, finally, and you find his brow furrowed, “is that what you think I was thanking you for?”

“What else would you—“ and he’s stepping even closer, your breath stuck in your throat as his fingertips graze your cheek again, “Satoru—“

“Did I mention how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmurs, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you always look beautiful, but tonight in particular, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,”

“You don’t have to—“

“That’s just it, I don’t have to,” his palm slides against your cheek, “I want to — I want to when it’s you,”

“But, i can’t do this, not like this,” tears burn at the corners of your eyes, water threatening to spill out of a too full glass that had been full for far too long, “not when it will give me—“ you cut yourself off before you cut your own heart out, but he’s only forcing the scalpel back into your hand.

“Give you what?”

And you can’t turn back now — you’d turned from this road far too many times, sprinted in the opposite direction only to end up here again — you needed to do this, even if it lead to a dead end cliff, “Give me the wrong idea,” and you’re turning away, but his hand catches you by the wrist, “stop, I—“

“It’s not the wrong idea,” and you stop.

No, it was. It was, right?

“Satoru—“ and his fingers find your own, as he steps closer, “please, don’t—“

“If you want me to really stop and forget about this, I will,” he murmurs, “I’ll turn around and open the door and let you go home right now, sweetheart. I won’t bring this up again,” but you don’t move away, you don’t say anything, so he continues, “but if you don’t want that, and you want the same thing I do—“

“And what is it that you want?” And you hear his soft chuckle, his cheek brushing against you, as his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I thought that was obvious, but I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you,” he squeezes your hand, as he guides your face to look back at him, his lips curled in a small smile, “I want you,”

Your breath is shaky, no, no — he doesn’t mean that, “No you don’t,”

He tilts his head, “You don’t think I don’t know what I want?”

“Satoru, I don’t want to be a substitute for others—“

And his hands are sliding around your middle, pulling you closer, “You think I could ever think of you as a second choice?”

“But—“ and every doubt from when you were younger wells up, every fear of not being enough — but they are erased away, crumbled into dust, by the way he looks at you — entire multitudes of skies all made to look at you.

“You keep finding reasons not to do this,” and his fingers skim your cheek, before resting under your chin, “but have you tried finding a reason why we should?”

“Satoru—“ you can’t help but lean into his touch — god, he was a temptation personified — everything you ever wanted, even when you tried not to want it. These feelings were never fake — so why not give in? Just this once. Your fingers slide against his cheek, and you can feel his skin burn under your touch, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“No, sweetheart,” he leans in even closer, your breaths becoming one, “but I’d love to find out,”

His lips brush yours — it’s chaste, hesitant, testing the waters — he tastes like sugar, and you almost laugh — he tastes like the frosting from the wedding cake that he had swiped a slice of on the way out that he finished before you two had reached his car. His eyes flutter open for half a second, before your lips are crashing to his this time — a new record for addiction? A second maybe and you were too far gone.

His hands cup your cheeks, one sliding to the back of your neck, as the other slides down to your waist to pull you ever closer.

“Did you find it out?” You murmur between kisses, lips meeting and parting if only to allow you both a breath. And his snowy eyelashes flutter, as his lips quirk upwards.

“Think I need another,” and his lips swallow any coherent thoughts you have, his hands slipping down your sides, lips parting again, “another,” he murmurs, a kiss, “another,”

“How many do you need?” you ask breathlessly, a chuckle caught in your throat, and his lips press desperate kisses along your jaw, a smirk against your skin.

“Is infinity an answer?” And you laugh, “have to take responsibility — I’m addicted to you,”

“And if I’m addicted?” His hands squeeze your hips, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“I’d be more than happy to take responsibility for you, Princess — always have,”

Your heart beats against the bars of its cage, threatening to burst out — but you couldn’t — not without knowing, “And if you break my heart?”

“I won’t ever break your heart,” he leans down to press butterfly kisses to your cheek, “but even if I do, I’ll put it back together,”

“Promise?” You murmur, and his lips meet yours again, and again, as he’s leading you towards his bedroom, his fingers running through your hair.

And the door to his bedroom swings shut, “Promise.”

“How long are you going to tease me?” you’re grumbling, cheeks hot and eyes averted, the back of your hand pressed against your lips, as Satoru presses needy kisses along your neckline of your dress.

He looks up at you through his snowy lashes, and you don’t know if you want to slap the smile off his lips or kiss it off, “You’ve been teasing me for years, you can’t give me this time, sweetheart?” His teeth graze the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “plus, do y’know how fun it is to watch you squirm?”

Slap. It’s definitely a slap.

“You’re insufferable,” and he smirks when your breath catches when his lips ghost over the swell of your chest.

“Yet you’re the one who's under me—“ and you try to get up only for him to pin you back down, a pout on his lips, “alright, alright, can’t blame me for wanting to see you squirm, Princess, how many chances will I get?”

“Only this one if you keep this up,” and he’s finding your lips in a languid kiss, an apology with no words, a smile filled with affection that only made it hard for you to feign annoyance.

“Then I better make this count,” he’s gently helping you up, turning you around to undo your corset strings — but you wonder if he’s undoing it or tangling it, “why did we choose a dress with such a complicated back?” It’s his turn to grumble and it only draws a giggle from you.

“Surprised you haven’t hollow purple’d it by now,”

“Trust me if you weren’t in it, I would have,” he sighs, as the fabric begins to loosen up, slipping off your shoulders.

“And here I thought you were good at everything,” you chuckle as he helps you shimmy out of the dress, the fabric falling away from you in a small pool around your ankles. Pools of blue rake over your exposed body, raising goosebumps in its wake, as your arms reflexively try to cover yourself, but his hands find your own, easing them away.

“I’m good at what counts, Princess,” he kisses your wrist, pulse jumping under his touch, nose brushing against it, he hovers over you, as he undoes his tie, fingers tugging at the knot, as he undoes the top button of his shirt, “and I’ll show you.”

~~~~

Satoru had dreamed of this — of you and him. He knew when he realized it — although it was too late when he did. Maybe it was the night before you left — the night after graduation — before you left — you had fallen asleep watching the movie you had put on. Your lips parted and mouth ajar, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out. He had leaned over to grab his phone to snap a picture to tease you with later, only for your fingers to grab onto him, your head on his shoulder, a quiet murmur of his name.

“Satoru,” — not Gojo, as you had always called him. And he knew he wanted to hear you say it again and again. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away, his head leaning against yours.

Suguru was everything to him for a time — he had come to Satoru at a time where he thought no one else would ever be able to understand him. No one else would be able to reach him — because how does a person reach for a god? But here you were — and the way your head rested on his shoulder and your lips said his name made him want nothing more than you by his side.

And when you left — you didn’t reply to his messages, you disappeared, just like everyone else did in his life. He was always left alone in the end — maybe it was his fate.

But then you came back — came back almost right after Suguru left for good. And that part of his heart that was meant for you began to thrive again and again — as he spent more time with you.

And god, when his clan started to pressure him to find someone to marry — he wrote them off as he always did. He thought he could ride out the ridiculous proposals and dates they had arranged for him — but as he thought more about who he wanted to spend his time with, who he wanted to see after a tiring mission, and who he couldn’t imagine being without —-

And he realized it was you.

“Satoru, don’t tease me,” you pouted, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, legs spread for him, his eyes flirting between your all too cute expression and the growing wet patch on your panties, “fuck, please—“

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his arm hooked under your knee, your foot pressed against his back, “where do you want me?”

“You fuck-er—“ the last syllable is a gasp as he kisses your sensitive clit through your soaked underwear, “Toru—“ a whine leaves your throat.

Fuck, you’re so cute, his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties — and all of this was worth it, worth it to see if these feelings were what he thought they were, worth it to make you smile, and worth to end up with you.

“How can I refuse you when you say my name like that?” he’s tugging your underwear away, exposing your sipping cunt to a rush of air and his warm breath, “all this f’me, baby?” You mumble something he can’t quite make out, “what was that?”

Your glassy eyes look up at him, blown wide with lust, “Only f’you, Satoru,” fuck, his dick twitches — he could bust just looking at you.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, “g’nna make me cum just with your words,” but he diverts his attention to your needy cunt, his long fingers graze over your pussy, collecting the precum on his fingertips, before he pinches your clit.

“Toru,” you squirm, as he grins down at you, all too pleased.

“Imagine if the elders could see you like this — spread out for me like a good little wife,” he’s leaning down to kiss your fluttering folds, leaning back for you to see the shiny pre that clings to his lips that his pink tongue darts out to clean off, “sweetest thing I’ve tasted,”

“Please, Toru, fuck—“ and finally his finger is circling your hole, before sinking in knuckle deep — fuck, you were fucking tight — he could melt from your warmth, pulling him in like a siren to a drunken sailor, “oh my god,”

“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ princess,” and he earns a glare from you that fades into an open mouthed moan as he begins to pump his finger in and out, “so good for me,” and he’s adding another finger, the wet squelch of your cunt growing louder, as he reaches a hand down to graze against his erection if only for a little relief.

He wishes he could memorize the way you looked right now — perfect little lips parted for him, his name and soft pants the only sounds you could manage to make, your back arching into his touch, and the way you moaned when his lips found their way around your clit.

His tongue circles your clit at first before his lips suck at the hard pearl, fingers parting your dripping folds, finally finding that spot that had your walls giving that telltale spasm, “Toru, I’m close—g’nna cum—“ you whimper, his fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt as he sucks hard at your clit, and you cum, hard, around his fingers, drenching his face and finger alike, as he fucks you through your orgasm.

You’re beautiful — lips parted and chest heaving, as you moan his name again, “good girl,” he’s murmuring, as your eyes flutter open, to watch him lick his lips and fingers clean, “might get addicted to how you taste, sweetheart,”

And you’re boneless, but still you’re still reaching for him, pulling him into a languid kiss, his cock twitching as he shifts himself over you, hands pressed into the mattress, his clothed cock rubbing against your drenched folds.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you mumble against his lips, and he’s pulling back an inch — but unknowingly, he’s given you a mile, as you flip him onto his back.

You’re a vision — your perked up nipples visible through your bra, halfway slipping off your shoulders as it is, hair a lovely mess, and pretty lips kiss ruined.

“My turn,” and your lips burn a trail down his jaw, along the curve of his neck and the cut of his collarbone. You take your time, if only to pay him back in full for all the teasing he did, “didn’t know you taste so sweet, Toru,” your tongue drags up his chest, “must be all the sugar you eat,”

And your lips smile against his abs at the sharp gasp he fails to stifle, “I’ll have you know I’m very sweet—“ and your fingers graze over his clothed erection — his hips buck up into your touch, “I’m known for it,” he hisses, as a giggle escapes your lips.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure almost everyone would care to disagree,” the tip of his cock strains against the fabric, the dark wet patch growing larger the more your thumb beared down on it, “but I wouldn’t be one of them,” and you’re dragging the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock, your eyes nearly hypnotized by the slight of it, thick beads of precum dripping from the slit, before your gaze finds his again, softening, “because I know how much you do for others — and how much you’ve lost because of it,” you kiss his inner thigh softly, nose brushing against the skin.

“As long I don’t lose you,” he says softly, “I think I’ll be okay,”

And your fingers find their way around the base of his cock, drawing a ragged gasp from his lips, before you lean down and flick your tongue against his leaking tip, “I’m not going anywhere, Toru.”

Your tongue drags a thick stripe up his cock, before beginning to trace along one of his veins, your fingers slipping up to use his pre to rub up and down his length. Your thumb teases his slit, and a hiss leaves his lips, a smirk against his dick.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” his cheeks burn, dusted with pink surely — as he watches you lick the precum that dripped down your fingers onto your wrist, “knew that mouth would be s’fucking good—“

“Turns out you don’t shut up even in bed,” and that earns you a cheeky grin that parts into an ‘o’ as his dick sinks into your mouth. He swears he was closer to death than he was when Toji nearly killed him — not that he’d like to remember that man in this moment — but you’d surely be the death of him, and you would be — if he had to spend another second without you in his life.

Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes half shut, his white knuckled fingers gripping the sheets — you’re gorgeous as you swallow him whole — sucking and licking, nose brushing against his pubes as your eyes water, as you bob along his length from tip to base and back again.

“S’good for me, so pretty, fuck—” he groans, when his tip brushes against your throat, his fingers finding your scalp to try and ease you off, I’m s’close princess, g’nna cum—” But your hands only slide to his ass to hold yourself against him, as his dick twitches in your mouth, and your fingers drift to his sack while your tongue flicks along his slit and he’s done. He’s cumming down your throat, hot release painting your mouth.

He’s watching you with half lidded eyes pull away from him— a string of cum and spit strung between your lips and his dick, before beginning to drip from the corner of your mouth. And fuck, it’s enough to make him hard all over again. You lean over him, wiping the release from your lips, as you kiss up his body.

“Now who’s good at everything?” and he huffs out a chuckle.

“I stand corrected — actually, don’t think I’ll be standing for a while after that but—” and he’s finding your lips in a kiss, tasting himself you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, as your fingers find his erection again, stroking it, before he’s flipped you onto your back. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, a smile on his lips, “don’t think you’ll be doing much standing after this either,”

“So full of yourself,” you roll your eyes.

“That’s what you’re going to be full of in a second—”

“Oh my god—” and your laugh dies on your lips as he starts to tease your entrance with the head of his cock, “Toru,” you whine, as he watches your needy cunt flutter around nothing as he drags his length up and down your dripping hole, watching your releases mix, “please—”

“So polite,” he hums, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, “now how can I refuse that?” and he begins to sink his length into your cunt, warm walls nearly pulling his cock in deeper, as he groans your name, “s’perfect, s’good for me, princess, made for me,” and inch by inch, until he’s finally bottoming out.

“Toru, ngh, s’big—” you gasp, lips parted in a silent moan, as you pull him even closer, face buried in the crook of his neck, but his fingers tugging your hair to show your face.

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss as he continues to thrust into you — his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch and skin slapping echoing in his ears. A gasp parting your lips as you pull apart, your head thrown back in a moan as your walls flutter around him as his tip breaches that one spot inside you.

“Haa, I’m close, Toru,” you groan, and he’s nodding, his fingers reaching between your bodies to find your clit.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” and you do — cumming hard, as he notches himself deep inside you, before spilling inside you, his hot release deep in your pussy. He’s moaning your name, as your bodies slow and his fingers cup your cheek gently, and his lips find yours.

He slowly rolls off of you, your warmth leaving him for a moment, before he’s pulling you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Is this a dream?” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, and a small chuckle leaves his lips, legs entangled.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, “If it is, I hope I never wake up, Princess.”

Your body aches — that’s your first thought as you stir into consciousness. Fuck, why does you feel so sore? Your eyes try to flutter open, but the sunlight blinds you — a soft groan leaves your lips. You shift, as you stretch, your back aching and muscles tight, but then someone moves behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist.

Your eyes shoot open, as your head slowly turns to find looking at Satoru. A gasp is caught in your lips.

Fuck, it was real.

You slowly turn to face him, his soft breaths leaving his pink lips — god he’s so gorgeous. His pretty white eyelashes resting against his skin, lips parted ever so slightly, and his snowy hair askew and mussed. Your fingers ghost over his cheek lightly — how many people have seen him asleep like this? How many had seen him with his guard down? You knew he didn’t sleep nearly enough, you were surprised he was still asleep — but, your cheeks burned, you both did spend half the night awake.

But there were more pressing things to think about — what did this mean? You chew on your bottom lip, he had said he wanted you — but what did he want? Just last night? Or something more.

“I can’t sleep with your thoughts grinding so much,” he mumbles, heat rushing to your cheeks, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, “why are you awake so early?” His nose brushes against your neck, his lips pressing softly against your pulse.

“I just woke up,” you murmur, a small shiver running up your spine, as you relax into his touch, your fingers running through his soft locks, “did all my thinking wake you?”

“Yes, and you’ll have to compensate me,” and you snort.

“You’re rich, like old money rich,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your skin, heat climbing up your body.

“Money isn’t what I want,” he nuzzles you, nose brushing against the skin of your neck, “wonder what other ways you can repay me,”

You chuckle, humming at his touch — god even the simplest of touches has your logic up in ash, “I’m sure you can figure out some other methods of payment,”

And his lips find yours again — it’s a lazy morning kiss, soft and slow, but not bereft of any of the passion from the night before. His fingers slide down your body, as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“My preferred method of payment wouldn’t have us leaving this room until tomorrow morning,” his lips curl in a smirk, “but I’ll collect my charge tonight — how about I make us breakfast?”

“You can make breakfast?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I know how to scramble an egg,” he shrugs, and you snort only for him to pout, and you smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek, before your thumb runs down his lips.

“How about we make breakfast together?”

“Was that really your first time making tamagoyaki?” you raise an eyebrow, as you pick up a piece of the rolled omelet between your chopsticks.

“Promise,” and you bite it — it was perfect — the texture, the taste, the seasoning. And you stare at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Either you’re lying or you really are good at everything,” you mutter, and he grins, as he takes a bite of his food — a sweeter tamagoyaki he had made for himself, far too smug for his own good.

“I think I proved that last night, Princess,” and you nearly choke on your food. And you chew thoughtfully — you two hadn’t even breached what last night meant yet. You had simply been dancing around it, or at least you had. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up — or rather, you picked up another piece of tamagoyaki up, you didn’t know how to, “what’s going on in that head of yours?”

And your eyes snap up, “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head, “You’re not hard to read — you keep thinking about something,” and his lips curl, “last night?” Your hesitation gives you away — and he only smiles wider, “should I refresh your memory?” And your cheeks are burning, and he chuckles, “come on, sweetheart, let’s just talk,”

You bite your lip — you needed to do this, you couldn’t run away from how you felt, not again — your fingers fidgeting with your chopsticks, before you place them down on your bowl, “What did last night mean?”

And his lips curl, but this smile he has is softer, “What do you think sweetheart? Do you think I’m really the—“ And his phone rings, and he picks up his phone, eyes flickering to the caller, and you wave him off, “you can take the call,”

He sighs, “One second,” he gets up to speak, and he hangs up a few minutes later, “text me a location,”

“Who was that?” And he’s shaking his head, a sigh on his lips, his hand on the back of his neck.

“The ever breathing and ever irritating geezers want me to meet them to speak about something involving the clan,” he meets your gaze, a flicker of an emotion in his eyes — a drop of water that disappears into the sea as quickly as it formed, “and it’s a good opportunity for me to discuss something I have been wanting to speak with them about,”

“Something?” and his lips quirk in a small smile.

“I’ll be back soon enough to explain, sweetheart,” he walks over to you, “will you wait here for me? Think I’ll be able to come back faster if I know you’re here waiting for me,”

And you can’t help the small flutter your treacherous heart gives, “The great Satoru Gojo will rush for me?”

“Oh, he would rush day and night if it meant he could come home to you,” and his fingers find your cheek, drawn like a magnet — why was it you could never look away from him? Even in a crowd, your eyes always found his gaze.

And you’d go to him — like a moth to a flame, “I think I’d prefer just Satoru,” you lean into his touch, your hand over his, “I do owe him after all,”

“You do,” he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before he’s pulling away, a smile on his lips, “consider that a deposit.”

You didn’t know what to do with yourself.

Alone in Satoru’s place — you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He had left right after breakfast, and he told you where the TV was, books, and told you could order anything or use anything you needed. But, this place was so him — each place you went, there was just another reminder of him that seemed trail after you, but at the same time, without him, it was like a shell of a place — no soul present.

And you supposed the soul wasn’t present.

You ended up back in the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. Fuck, they even smelled of him — you squeezed your eyes shut.

You really didn’t know what you were doing — did you?

You laid on your back. What were you supposed to make of what happened last night and this morning for that matter? Was this real now? A real relationship with Satoru — you turned over on your stomach, pulling the covers over your head — you could barely imagine it.

And your phone goes off, as you reach for it blindly on the nightstand. But it wasn’t the white haired sorcerer you hoped it was — your eyebrows knit together — at least you didn’t think it was. A text from a number you don’t recognize — and a picture to top it off from the preview.

You nearly deleted it — only to spot a familiar mop of white in the picture.

Your blood runs cold at the sight. Satoru? He was at a restaurant with — a woman? You didn’t recognize her, but his hand held hers, picture taken mid laugh. Your cheeks burn — no, no — there had to be an explanation.

A text now — Want to see what your boyfriend does in his spare time? Is he done using you now?

There’s only one person who’d text like that.

Naoya, how fuck did you even get this picture? You stare at the photo — have you fallen so far in your clan that you have the time to stalk Satoru now?

He replied, it’s not my fault that they are dining in a Zenin owned business.

Another picture — Satoru and her were hugging, his arm around her waist, far too close to be friendly.

You don’t think — you call him. It rings and rings, but no answer — the cut to voicemail makes your heart sink.

Another text — even if you don’t believe me, do you think this will be the last of your problems? When you’re Satoru Gojo, anyone close to you will have a target on their back — if only to use your blood to paint one on his head.

You knew you couldn’t trust this. You knew there was an explanation. You knew Satoru wouldn’t do this to you.

But even still, you wished you could tell your heart that.

“What is this?” Satoru was led to a table at the restaurant the old geezers had chosen — but there were no wrinkly old cranks in sight. Instead, there was a woman.

“Are you Satoru Gojo?” And he raises an eyebrow, hands sliding into his pockets.

“The one and only, now I don’t suppose the old fools of the Gojo clan turned into a woman — so who are you?” She swirls the glass in her hand, before downing the liquid in one go.

“Figures they had to lie to get you here — seems like we’ve been set up,” she gestures to the chair in front of her, “I’m Airi,” and he takes a reluctant seat, “I was told this was a meeting for us to meet for a potential engagement,” and he scoffs, he should have figured it was something like this, “but judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that,”

“I was expecting to meet

I suppose we’re on the same page,”

He tilts his head, “Really?”

“Gojo, you may be a catch, but to me, you’re nothing more than a potential knife to my neck,” she places her glass down, leaning back in her chair, “and plus, I have someone I’m interested in,” and her eyes slide down, “and judging by the bite mark on your neck, you do too,”

He pays it no mind, a laugh leaving his lips at the thought of you waiting for him at his apartment, “I do,” and he sighs, pushing his chair out, before getting to his feet. “and I have to get back to her,”

She follows suit pushing out her own chair, rising, a waiter walking by, and she trips. It’s a reflex, he catches her by the wrist and by the waist, steadying her.

“Sorry,” she pulls away immediately, looking back for the waiter, before biting her tongue, “fucking waiter tripped me,” the two of them glance around, but see no one, “I’ll have to talk to my grandfather’s advisors about this. No one trips the granddaughter of Naobito Zenin,” she mutters, and Satoru’s eyes snap to her.

“You’re a Zenin?” And it clicks, the wedding, “who arranged this meeting?”

She tilts her head, “My father, but he heard about this from my cousin, Naoya—“

He checks his phone — and he sees a missed call from you.

Fuck. It was a set-up — in both ways.

“I have to go,” and he can only hope you wouldn’t do the same to him when he came back.

Satoru calls you, but you don’t pick up. You can’t bring yourself to stare back at the photo he had set as his contact photo — the picture Yuta had taken of him clutching at his phone with your picture on his screen.

You needed to talk to him in person.

And it’s not long before he’s back home — practically teleporting at your feet.

You swear, stumbling and he grabs you, tugging you close, “Got you,” he smiles, tugging off his blindfold for you to see his eyes — the startling blue that you still couldn’t navigate without drowning in its depths, “does that mean I can keep you?” and you want to pull away, you want to run, but you can’t help but melt into his touch, your fingers gently clutching at the front of his shirt.

“That depends on whether I’m the only person you’ve said that to,” and you look up at him, his brow furrowed, “and held like this,”

“The meeting today, it was supposed to be with the elders — I was going to discuss our relationship again but—“ you show him the pictures on your phone, and his brow knit together, “how did you—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence before he realizes, “it was a set-up,”

“I know,” and relief washes over features for a moment, but your eyes can’t meet his, your lips a thin line.

And he glances at the photo again, seeing the one where he’s holding Airi, “She tripped, sweetheart, trust me—“ his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “I don’t want to hold anyone but you,”

“I know Naoya and the Gojo clan probably set this up,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, “but—” you pull away from him, every step away from him a fissure in the foundation of this bridge built, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,”

And he’s blinking, “Why?”

“I’m not good enough,” you’re shaking your head, stepping back as he steps forward, “I hurt you by leaving, and I was this close to doing it again—”

“But you didn’t—”

“And your clan doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know, I feel even if we’re together,” the words that leave your lips break your heart and his, we’ll only hurt each other in the end,”

“Why do you always push me away when we get close?”

“No I don’t—”

“You don’t think the sorcerer that’s an expert at pushing others away — wouldn’t know if he’s getting pushed away?”

“This isn’t working out,” you cut him off, as the slice cuts through thin air — but it’s not your head that goes rolling — it’s his heart, “we should stop — I think your clan has been convinced,”

He’s silent for a moment, before he replies, “well, I haven’t been convinced,”

You scoff, his hands by his side, as his quiet footsteps approach you, “convinced of what?”

“Convinced that,” he stops in front of you, “you don’t feel the same way I do,” Your breath catches, as his fingers find your cheek, “all these years, sweetheart, and you didn’t know?”

“But,” you can’t process this, it doesn’t make sense, “but Suguru—“

“Was important to me yes,” he murmurs, “but it’s been years, and it doesn’t mean I can’t have deep feelings for someone else — especially when I’ve had them for over a decade,”

“You—“ was this real? As he stood before you, in his living room low lights, sunlight streaming in from his windows, “what?”

He laughs, “Didn’t know it was possible to render you speechless, sweetheart — guess there’s a first time for everything,” he steps over your missteps with the same ease he does everything, “I really do have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” The back of his fingers ghost over your cheek, “I’m in love with you—“

“No,” you’re shaking your head, and his face falls, “Satoru, we can’t—“

“But—“

“Your clan doesn’t approve of me, they won’t stop trying to break us up, and I could put you in danger,” you murmur, “they could use me against you — just like Suguru did,” you couldn’t bear the thought of that, “and is that worth it? Worth it for something that may not be real?” You ask the question you’re afraid of asking him — of asking yourself — “was it ever real?”

And he’s still trying to reach for you, despite it all — he knows it’s dangerous to be around him, he knows anyone close to him is in danger — and that’s why he was okay when you left. If only you’d be safe — but he knew that if he always played it safe, he would never be happy, “It’s real to me,”

“It’s not to me,” you turn towards the door, “I’m sorry.”

And this time he doesn’t stop you.

It’s for the best.

That’s what you tell yourself. The same thing you say when you’re leaving his place. The same thing you say the next morning you wake up with only a pain in your chest and a dull ache in your head. The same thing when you accept a long mission overseas.

It was for the best.

Then why — then why did you think of him? Each and every day, every minute, every second. But it was for the best. He was safer without you, it was easier without you, it was better — better and yet each day seemed to drag when you couldn’t talk to him. And your notes were filled with unsent texts to him — and your mind was filled with nothing but memories.

And you couldn’t touch memories nor could you talk to them.

Several months later, you’re sitting in a plane, watching the animation of the plane fly back towards Tokyo. You had been checking in with Yaga several times a month, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Satoru.

Or rather, Gojo. Not that you expected to — not after what you did.

And soon enough, you’re arriving home — heading inside your home to find a bunch of your mail had fallen out of your mailbox, knocked out of the rickety box from the storm the night before. You pick up the drenched mail between two fingers that was stuck to the sides of your walls, as you fumble with your keys to open the door. Your suitcase and mail fall to the fall as you close the door behind you, sighing.

Fuck. You were home.

You dragged your suitcase inside, picking up the mail off the floor. You collapsed on your couch, tossing the wet envelopes onto the table — when a name catches your eye.

Gojo?

You pick up an envelope — the frilly envelope doing nothing to protect the contents inside — you barely can make out any of the text, except the faint inked kanji of his name.

You gingerly open the envelope, peeling out the insides — and your heart drops.

Is this an invitation? The faint text was blurred and smudged from the rain — the contents all but faded and you could only make out three things — ““marriage,” today’s date, and bits and pieces of what you thought was an address.

Satoru was…getting married?

It felt like logic had fled your mind and panic took its place — as you looked up the parts of the address that you were able to decipher. And you found it — it was a popular venue not far from here.

You didn’t think — you grabbed your keys and drove.

You couldn’t let him get married, no, no — you had made a mistake when you left. You thought he was better off, you thought it was for the best — but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be when your chest hurt like this — felt as if your heart was splitting in two with a sword stuck between your ribs. It couldn’t be because you pushed him away because you were scared — scared of getting hurt again, scared of hurting him, scared of being with the only person you ever had loved.

Basically, you pulled up to the venue, you were an idiot.

You hadn’t changed, you hadn’t showered off your who knows how long of a flight, and now you were on the steps of a wedding venue that Satoru was getting married at. You froze before the doors.

You couldn’t do this. He didn’t deserve to have his day ruined by you — not when you had ruined enough. If he had found someone else to spend his life with — whether it was arranged or not, he deserved to be happy.

Even if it wasn’t with you.

So you step down — walking off a distance to watch when the couple emerged — which judging by how dark it was and how staff were already almost done setting up — would be any minute now.

So you wait.

And finally when the doors swing open, you steel yourself — knowing it would do nothing, nothing to shield you from the pain of seeing—and your eyes find the groom.

That wasn’t Satoru.

He certainly had the white hair, but he did not have his blue eyes — he had a lovely bride regardless, who looked at him the way you had always looked at Satoru. Was that the look you had hidden away for so many years? And why were you still hiding?

And your eyes find Satoru almost instantly — as fast as his eyes find you seemingly, as your name escapes his lips — as he parts through the crowd to your side. He’s wearing the other suit he had tried on — the white suit that had been your second favorite — his white locks parted and combed to the side, but still impossibly unkempt as they always were.

“You got my invitation?” you blink, tilting your head.

“But you—what?” and his brow furrows.

“Don’t tell me you lost your ability to read and speak while overseas, princess,” and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head, wringing your hands.

“Satoru, the invitation was wet because of the rain, I thought—” your voice wavers, glancing away as your cheeks burn, “I thought you were getting married.”

He raises an eyebrow, lips curling, “And you were about to burst in and object?”

You roll your eyes, but even so you can’t meet his gaze, “Satoru—”

His smile only grows wider, “What were you going to say? A passionate speech about how you’re still—” And you’re tugging him close by the collar, and his breath catches, your name leaving his lips.

“I’m in love with you, Satoru,” your voice is steady as you speak, your hand sliding to his cheek, “I always have been — I was just afraid to admit it, I didn’t want to hurt you — whether it was by my own hand or not,” and his brow furrows, but you continue, “but I’m not scared anymore — because it hurts more to be nothing than something with you—”

And his lips find yours. It’s everything you want — because it's him, he’s everything you’d ever wanted, and everything you’d ever want. You want the way his arm slides around your waist to pull you closer, you want the way his hand cups your cheek, you want the way his lips smile against yours, and you’d want his past, present, and future. And you’d do anything to keep it.

“Promise you’ll never leave like that again?” he murmurs, his arm tightening around your waist as he says the words, his forehead pressed against yours, “I already have abandonment issues,” and you chuckle, your fingers finding his cheek.

“I promise,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I left — both times I left, and there won’t ever be a third,”

And he smiles, “You proposing to me, sweetheart? I’m not one to rush into things, gotta take me out on a proper date first,”

“How about tonight?” you find his lips again, the taste of sugar on his lips — undoubtedly from indulging in a slice or several of wedding cake.

“So soon?” he hums,and his gaze softens, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “someone’s eager,” and your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his, as you would a million times more,

“Well, you don’t know until you try.”

✧ a/n: ahhh another celebration fic done!! this one was lowkey a struggle towards the end so i hope this turned out okay. it's beyond me understanding if it did or not lmao. i hope you guys enjoy ahhh -- gotta probably put up a poll to decide the next celebration fic this weekend :) (it's only because i'm horribly indecisive).

✧ taglist: @yunjinabla, @weluvsza, @yamaguccitadashi, @gojobbg, @soulofoz, @hfdkhjghjkghfj, @forest-fruits-jam, @cerene-dipity, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @reaperxdeath, @octopishisahybridanimal, @hanlay, @whereflowerswenttodie, @tsukimefuku, @numbing3scapism, @arcswonderland, @kirashuu, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @jayathelostdragon, @sunflowmaryam, @satorusmochis, @catsgomurp, @simply-a-s1mp, @kentocalls, @weluvsza, @lucy-xv0202, @mazzd4, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo fluff

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i-cant-sing · 9 months

Text

Okay but like you guys know how Toji killed Riko Amanai because she was the star plasma vessel and he hates the Jujutsu world?

Imagine that after killing Riko and just narrowly escaping Gojo and Getou, promising to kill every Star plasma vessel just to spite them, he has a daughter- you, and its revealed that you're the next star plasma vessel, a perfect match for Tengen to merge with and prevent forced evolution, and now Gojo and Getou are sent put to capture you and bring you to Tengen.

And they go, not because they want to bring you to Tengen, but because they want to protect you from Toji, only to find out that you're his daughter that has him wrapped around her tiny finger and oh oh THE HYPOCRISY???? So as long as you're his daughter, TOJI WONT KILL THE STAR PLASMA VESSEL?????

Ans Toji's all like- "ohh you guys don't need to worry about Y/n, I'll take care if her and protect her from anyone and everyone. Yall better leave rn unless you want to have a horrible death." Meanwhile, toddler reader is just in her own little world as she's spinning around in circles because it's fun when the world is spinning and makes her stumble.

Anyways, Gojo and Getou don't believe him, and even if they did, they won't just let him go that easily because fuck that guy, he killed a teen and now has the gall to stand there like he didn't kill an innocent kid.

And Gojo is all like "fuck that, we gonna kill your kid too bitch." He's not, but he's gonna make sure Toji feels scared and doomed before dying.

Immediately, Toji has whipped out all of his weapons, pushing you behind him, and just then, out of thin air, the entire Zenin clan appears to Toji's aid because yes, they hate Toji too, but they adore you and they eint letting white haired bitcha and his emo Buddha bf take you.

As the battle begins, there's someone from the clan who's keeping you safe, moving you away from the battle ground so that you don't end up getting hit, and obviously, they put some headphones and sensory videos on their phone to keep you distracted from the fight. Meanwhile, there is absolute chaos on the field, Getou and Gojo being merciless as they kill one clan member after another.

Eventually, one of the attacks ends up blowing away your "bodyguard" and you're just there alone, unattended and unsupervised, so naturally, you look to the ground and see Gojo wielding Hollow Purple, and you don't know what that is except for a purple orb and since your dear uncle Naoya had been forcing you to take tutoring from the best teachers in tge world, you had learned color theory and immeadiately, without knowing the consequences of your actions, you throw out a yellow orb directly at the purple orb because you were taught in art class that "yellow cancels out purple", but now everyone is looking at you like "did a kid just- neutralise the most powerful Jujutsu technique???? Without so much as breaking a sweat?" And you're just giggling nd jumping up and down, calling out to Naoya "see uncle Naoya??? Those classes were not a waste of money!"

And that's when everyone noticed-

You're alone.

Naobito is immediately yelling at Toji to "collect your chaotic child before she reveals more of her powers and becomes everyone's target!" And Gojo is like "??? Um wtf?? Did a child just beat me???", while getou is springing into action to get his hands on you before Toji can.

Toji beats him to it, grabbing you with one hand while the other pulled out his sword. Getou summoned his own curses to help him attack Toji and simultaneously save you. As the two began fighting, Gojo sent another attack to Toji, who in an attempt to save you, shielded you with his body while taking the impact of hit.

As Toji was down, you were taken away from him by Getou, and while you didn't understand just what happened to your dad, you were becoming distressed as he didn't respond to you. And with your distress came a change in your cursed energy, which Getou recognised and he knew sooner or later, you will have an outburst of energy and hurt everyone in the process, because you're just a kid who doesn't how powerful she is.

So, yanking on Gojo's shoulders and telling him to leave the other members of the clan because they need to leave right now, the three of you teleported out of there.

Anyways, Gojo and Getou decide to take you in because there's no way they're giving you to Tengen, and taking you back to the Zenin clan was also out of the question, AND not to mention, they want to discover more about your cursed energy and help you control it. I mean, Getou wants to help you learn your powers and also give you a normal childhood, Gojo is slighted that he got beat by a child who didn't know what she was doing and he's low key concerned if you're gonna be a threat in the future. So... why not just take you in, and act like your parents because you're a gullible child who'll believe anything, and really has the attention span of a goldfish.

And at first, things were great because Gojo was like a chaotic parent who adored bullying you, while Getou was the calm and collected parent who helped you calm down as you swore you were gonna Hollow Purple Gojo if he kicks the back of your knees one more time. But everything changed when Getou parted ways with Gojo because he wanted to "kill humanity because they're all selfish and cruel🥰" and Gojo was like "babe, no, it's my job to be the sadistic one as a joke and you're the one who's supposed to laugh and say no, humans need us to protect them🥺" but Getou is like no, fuck that. And then Getou is like, well you can give Y/n to me because I love children and I love taking care of her, and Gojo is like "no." While holding a very struggling child that wants to scratch his face off, and Gojo only said no initially just so that there's something for Getou to come back. He knows how attached and fond Getou has grown over you. But Getou just sighs and goes "aight. Shared custody it is then. See you in 8 months, Y/n! Give your papa a kiss🥰" and you do.

And yeah, everyday since Getou departure, you can see the changes in Gojo's behaviour. It's not bad exactly, he's depressed for sure, and he's doubting his principles every step of the way, BUT he's kinder to you and to humans in general now. Meanwhile, whenever you do meet papa Getou, with Gojo's supervision cause my man doesn't trust Getou to not take you away and turn u into a killing machine, you can see the changes in Getou's personality too. He may still have that same kind, noble, shaman facade going on, but you see the way he looks down on the weak and on the non sorcerers. You see how he uses people as means to achieve his ultimate goal. Sure, you can also see that he still adores you, but you... dont know if you still love him with his view of the world.

Then one day, it happens. Gojo has finally killed Getou, not because of any ill intent, but because he simply threatened his students and the innocent people of Japan. And even though you knew this day wold eventually come, you still didn't forgive Gojo for a long time. You cried and fought against him, until Gojo had to eventually knock you out just so that your breakdown wouldn't unleash cursed energy and endanger everyone.

After Getou's death, Gojo's behaviour towards you and in general did a whole 180. He became the kinder, softer, gentle parent towards you. The empathetic teacher who pushed you but also consoled you when you failed, instead of the previous Gojo who would ridicule you for failing to master a technique.

Getou's death had definitely changed Gojo in other ways too. He had become more protective of you, always keeping you around because he couldn't bare the thought of losing someone else (Riko, Getou, etc). He keeps a close on you, watchubvvyour development and progress like a hawk because he knows you will soon be wanting to help him on missions, or worse, go solo. He doesn't want that, he can't have that. So the more you push Gojo to let you be independent, the more he tells you to sit down and practice more because you're just not ready yet.

Then one day, you reach your braking point and just- leave when Gojo is busy with his students. And this turned out to be a big mistake because the moment you had left Jujutsu High, it seemed like you were surrounded by thousands of enemies. Everyone wants to either kill you or capture you, and you don't even know why (because Gojo never revealed to you about your family or you being the star plasma vessel). Fortunately, you had trained enough to fight these assassins, and by the time you were done, you were tired and wanted to return back to Jujutsu High, but before you could, someone knocked you out.

When you woke up, you were lying in bed in a traditional Japanese home. Soon, a man with blonde hair came in, introducing himself as your uncle Naoya. He revealed who you were, how he was your family, how he saved you from Gojo, the man who stole you and killed his family members.

Of course, you call bs because why wouldn't you?? Naoya gives major prick vibes without trying so yeah, you didn't trust him at all. Then he pulled out pictures of you, of Toji and everyone else, and you vaguely remembered them, but not enough to believe him because Naoya could just be manipulating you to be compliant for human trafficking.

And then he takes you to another room, on the way you see a lot of other people who are looking at you fondly and have tears in their eyes, they seem like they want to say something or touch you, but Naoya glares at them to move away. Eventually, you reach a door and on opening it, you see a man sitting on a wheelchair, looking away from you.

"Who's that?" You asked as Naoya gently pushed you in. He walked towards the man, turning his wheelchair around and your breath hitched-

"Y/n, meet Toji, your-"

"Dad?" You whispered, recognising him as memories flashed through your mind. How- how could you have forgotten him all these years?

Tears began flowing down your face as you saw his miserable state- his face emotionless, the man was missing an arm, and he looked pale and weak.

"Gojo did this to him." Naoya began. "While your father was fighting, Gojo tried to purple Hollow you. But Toji took the hit instead, protecting you. He almost died that day, but with a little cursed energy, we were able to save him." He sighed, patting Toji's shoulder. "Unfortunately, he is paralysed. The cursed technique we tried to save him, has sent him into a vegetative state. He can't move, can't speak, doesn't even react."

More tears fell as you began questioning if Gojo really did this. Then again, if he was so innocent, why did he never tell you who your father really was.

"Why- why did you bring me here?" You asked.

Naoya scoffed. "Why wouldn't I? I had to save you from that monster. Look at what he did to your father! How could have I just leave you with him? You belong here, with your family, with your clan!"

"I cant- I can't stay here." You said, tearfully.

"Why not?"

"Because Gojo will find me. And when he does, he will hurt you all. I- I can't have that-" but Naoya pulled you into a hug as you began sobbing into his chest, heart heavy with guilt at the sight of your father.

"Shh, its okay. This is not your fault. You didn't do this, Gojo did. Which is precisely why you must stay here, with me and with your father. Besides, you don't need to worry about Gojo. I'm not a weak sorcerer, yknow? And not alone either. Plus, I remember you neutralising Gojo's attack pretty easily as a child. I'm sure you're better at it now. Obviously, not better than your uncle, I mean who are we kidding? No ones better than me-"

Yeah, you're remembering Naoya alright now.

Meanwhile, Gojo is losing his mind and is on a murder spree through Japan to find you. He doesn't even know who fucking took you, and Naoya may not be as strong as Gojo, he is pretty good at hiding, like a rat.

Besides, Gojo isn't the only who's looking for you.

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lightlycareless · 2 years

Note

Are we going to get any interactions with naoya's brothers?

😏

#ask #ask series: first it hurts—#yall reading me like a book #but its basically yes #Naoya's brothers are going to play a part in this story

0 notes

javarium · 10 months

Text

all the good things | geto suguru.

someway, somehow, amidst all of the thoughts of chaos and spiraling ideals of a new “better” world, a light shines through to guide him to a path of true balance. that just so happens to be the second-year transfer from Kyoto, who’s more than happy to put him back on the right path..

warning(s): like 98% canon lmao, female reader, mentions of pregnant! reader towards the end, honestly just wrote and didn’t bother checking if this was coherent but here’s y’all a snack haha, also using new line dividers atm and they’re all all pretty, credits to the maker in the guidelines of my blog

note(s): as much as I wanted to wait I just can’t stand it so here’s this piece published earlier than I want lol. also I didn’t know who to tag for geto so I just went with these lovelies ☺️

You like the Tokyo school much better than the one in Kyoto.

By leaps and bounds actually, you muse.

Everything from the people down to the energy they give off was so much more different — more freeing.

Kyoto was just too much, too old school and too traditional, especially for you. The students there seemed to be more rigid, and the teachers seemed to sneer at you. More often than not for just being a female. That old way of thinking was most likely why they lost the Exchange Event almost every year.

Especially with sorcerers like Geto Suguru on their side.

You transferred to Tokyo during the last half of your first year, which wasn’t something commonplace. That time wasn’t exactly a pleasant time to transfer into. Geto and Gojo, your upperclassmen, had failed a mission protecting the Plasma Star Vessel, Riko Amanai. Yes, Gojo managed to take out the Sorcerer Killer, Fushiguro Toji (who was actually a Zen’in like Naoya) on the mission, but that was only after he had completed his mission — after they had failed to protect Riko.

Now you’re a second-year at Tokyo High, watching the third-year Geto Suguru fall into a spiral of chaos and warped ideals while his friends go their own personal paths and leave him to his own devices, completely unaware in their own worlds that they’ve left a storm brewing behind them, alone and lonely and more than ready to bring down its wrath upon anyone in its way.

You secretly wondered how much Gojo cared for the person who was supposed to be his best friend.

So why you decided to approach said storm to get a (very much well-needed) drink out at the machines while he was preoccupied with his own thoughts, you have no idea. Were you stupid? Yes. Did that matter right now? … Probably.

Your feet carried you to the vending machine, standing beside Geto. You weren’t bothering to look at him out of your peripheral vision, knowing that if you did, the universe would shit on you and he would look up and make eye contact.

Sounds like one of those romance animes or something, you think, nose crunching in distaste. Ew…

“It’s such a shame that you decided to withdraw from Kyoto, [Name]-chan.”

An even bigger problematic ‘ew’ came from behind you. You scowled and turned halfway on your heel, back facing your black-haired upperclassmen to stare at the smirking face of one of the two reasons you’d originally left Kyoto’s school.

You scoff, shaking your head to see Geto’s form standing tall, but still facing the vending machine to get something. That’s all right; you could handle your own battles anyway.

“You really have the audacity to come and talk to me like this? After what you put me through for the last two years? Ah, wait a second. It’s you. So I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” Naoya shrugged. “All I asked for was—”

“For you to leave her alone, Zen’in.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the sound of Geto’s voice cutting through the air, but it’s only Naoya that scowls and turns his head to face his Tokyo upperclassmen.

And to your absolute surprise, despite Naoya’s scowl deepening to a point where you thought he couldn’t get any uglier, the male pivoted on the ball of his foot and sauntered off.

“Are you alright?” came the instant inquiry.

Geto moving to get a closer look at you made you sweat even more. Just for a different reason.

“I’m fine, Senpai.”

The tall male looks between you and Naoya’s fading figure, eyes narrowing slightly in distaste up until he sees the Zen’in male finally disappear from sight. Even he knows that the Zen’in’s are trash; Naoya just really takes the cake.

“That’s good,” he says.

And when he looks at you with gentle eyes, you’re surprised (and desperately trying to hide it). How instantly his expression and mood changed from mere moments before Naoya showed up to at this moment caught you off guard.

“Did you need something from here? I can get it for you.”

His offer is so sincere, so polite. Such a stark contrast from earlier. Especially with the way the bright smile on his face that reaches his ears and makes the corners of his eyes begin to crinkle.

Instead of the same uncertainty from before your approach filling your stomach, this time feels different. This time, it’s an excited, happy feeling; as if butterflies are rapidly fluttering away in your belly in eager anticipation of something wonderful to come.

“Um, yes,” you squeak, looking to the machines, “I was going to get—”

>>>>

How long does it take for one to fall from grace?

From one who’s fingers touched the pure white clouds of heaven to becoming one who’s knees were stuck deep within the obsidian tar pits of hell, it seemed Geto Suguru was destined to struggle with himself — with his morals and ideals of the world of jujutsu sorcerers and the world of people that lived outside of it — for eternity.

Someone that was so bright, so revered, to fall into a pit of hopelessness?

It must be a lie, others would think.

Watching him sink into the pits of chaos and despair while his best friend rose to a place where he became untouchable to all sorcerers… made something terrible, something spiteful, stir within the depths of your stomach. How much did the white-haired teenager care about the one he called his equal?

But as Gojo became more and more powerful and left his friend behind, Geto too, grew in power in his own right.

And a lot of it was with you.

Weeks of meeting at the vending machines for snacks during training turned into months of sitting on benches and eating lunch together. Even that progressed farther, to him taking you to everything from restaurants to the book store (as much as he’d laugh at you buying manga, he was just as much of a hypocrite with Inuyasha under his arm) to even pretty lakes across Japan, soaring atop one of his flying curses.

Doing things that friends do. That people more than friends also do.

But at the same time, during those times after missions or simply while spending time together in either his or your room, you’d see that malicious darkness fester up. You’d see the way his brows would furrow when you mentioned saving someone or his lips pull down when there’d be a mention of the higher-ups about a mission you’d taken recently that went sour.

In times like these, you wondered if Gojo Satoru really did once know Geto Suguru the same way you knew him now.

“I can see the sweat on your forehead,” the black-haired male jokes. “You shouldn’t think so hard.”

Suguru doesn’t chuckle, but the joking smile of amusement is still there. It’s just a faint one. He’s become less and less of a jokester lately, swimming deeper into the darkness. But for you, you think he tries a little harder to keep the mood and air between you two as light and positive as possible.

(For you.)

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” you quip back, “for the next time I see sweat on your brow for thinking so much. Hypocrite.”

For the first time all day, he finally chuckles.

“Hypocrite?” He muses, placing his cheek on his fist. “Really?”

“Yes!” You toss your hands up in mock frustration. “You heard me, Mr. I-Wanna-Brood-At-Weird-Times-of-the-Day.”

“That’s an awfully long name.”

“It sure does fit though, yeah?”

“So you say.”

The air had been tense and thick since morning, but the two of you were striving to get past it. Well, you slightly more, but the more you tried, the more Geto — ah, Suguru. He already told you to call him that, didn’t he? — seemed to try and help you push for a happier tone.

But the mission Suguru was to be sent on soon had him shut down mentally, closed off from you for the last few days. And today was the day you’d tried to pick him back up out of his crappy mood.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” you ask.

Suguru sighs, then nods his head. “It’s nothing. I’ll be back by the day after, if not sooner.”

You shrug, semi-happy with his response and accepting it. But the other half of you knows something — sees something — behind his pretty eyes that you wished you would have left alone.

But your heart loved to meddle when it wanted to meddle.

And in the future, you hoped Suguru would thank you for that meddling nature.

****

113 bodies were to be found five days after Geto arrived at the village he was assigned to.

But he hadn’t been alone the day he arrived.

Suguru just didn’t know that.

You’d stuck to him like glue. Well, as far back as glue could stretch in that regard. You’d silenced your cursed energy so much that you almost swore you didn’t even have any. And not once did the male turn around to bother to look around or check his surroundings, like he knew he was ever being followed.

Now, all you could do was watch as Suguru stepped into the house that the villagers brought him to. Supposedly, the house contained the reason why the villagers had been dying.

But that gnawing anxiousness in the pit of your stomach told you otherwise. It told you that something was about to go very, very wrong.

Very few people had been able to manage to near-fully suppress their cursed energy aura. It was a talent that could only be managed by a select few, one of which was probably Gojo Satoru himself. But when one successfully did it, all the stories told of how nauseous they felt; how overwhelming the sense of others cursed energy could be.

And it was all true.

Bile and your lunch nearly coated your shoes. Knees too had you let Suguru’s immense, Special Grade cursed energy make you sink to the ground.

It isn’t the same. It isn’t the same. It isn’t the same!

Eyes blown wide as saucers, you realized that something had indeed went very, very wrong inside that house. Because no longer was Suguru’s cursed energy driven by regular means like a regular jujutsu sorcerer.

No. All you could see from his cursed energy was pure malice and raw, unadulterated rage and anger.

Whatever these people said or have done to send him into such fury like this, you couldn’t move, only think. This is the day they die.

Out of the house comes two— No, three. Suguru being one of them. A man and a woman, both with ugly faces and ugly auras you didn’t like.

No wonder Suguru doesn’t like them.

A curse manifests from your friend’s fingertips, and you quickly realize what’s about to happen — the only thing that could happen.

But he can’t just kill them…

You step out of your hiding spot and shout his name. Shock enters Suguru’s eyes. Of course; he hadn’t expected you to be here. But then they glaze over with a mixture of emotions. Disappointment seems to be the most obvious.

Curse you, Yuki Tsukumo, for tipping him over the edge.

“Don’t even try it, Suguru.”

“You shouldn’t have come, [Name].” It sounded like a warning.

You scoff slightly. “And let you do something like this? I don’t think so.”

His eyes narrow. It’s an expression you don’t like.

“You need to leave.”

“So do you, apparently.”

“Don’t be like this, [Name]. Don’t make me hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t anyway. Why let one awful circumstance, one awful event, define the rest of your life?”

“Do you know what they’ve done?” he asks, and you clearly hear the intent of violence behind his tone. You see his jaw clench up and a dangerous fire ignite behind his eyes. “Do you know they have two girls locked up in there, ready to kill?”

“Of course not,” you say, “but you were about to do something that was going to impact your life… Forever.”

“I think I’m ready for that.”

“You’re ready to lose everything?”

“If I must.”

You almost bite your tongue. But you don’t, and speak anyway.

“Even me?”

The thick, black smokiness of one his curses dancing on his fingertips turns to wisps, almost vanishing. You see what the question does to him, so you press farther. Deeper into the unspoken part of you two’s relationship you’d both been afraid to touch on.

Then, he admits something, dipping first into waters that haven’t been treaded into.

“I’d like to think you’d come with me, be by my side.”

Your heart thumps faster. It’s a declaration of many things: loyalty, friendship, trust.

But all your ears hear is a declaration of love.

Because you don’t miss the way his eyes shine as he looks you up and down like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. Like he wants you to actually follow him like he expected, to come with him and step in place next to him like an equal.

If not more than just an equal.

“I can’t do that,” you reply. “You know I can’t, Suguru. And neither can you.”

It’s written all over his face that he doesn’t like your answer.

“And why can’t I?”

“Because you’re better than this.”

…

Was he? What did that mean anyway: being better? After Riko, after his “talk” with Yuki, everything just seemed to collapse around him; everything he knew ripping apart at the seams faster than he could repair them.

Why? Why was he supposed to be better? How could he be better? Did he deserve to even become better?

“Don’t take the easy way,” you tell him. “There’ll never be a right answer, not right now at least.”

“Killing all non-sorcerers seems like a pretty good start,” he replies darkly.

“And how would you even manage that?” you retort. “If that’s the only thing you can stand on, that’s shallow.”

“Then what is the answer, [Name]? Do tell me, please,” he urges sarcastically, rolling his dark eyes. “Is killing every non-sorcerer not worth us jujutsu sorcerers having a chance to live?”

You answer as earnestly as he expects, “I have no idea, but at the moment, it sounds pretty stupid.”

Unfortunately, it takes him much longer than you want for him to put the monster at his fingertips away, for his cursed energy to dip down and go back to the way it was before it spiked in a rage you’d never anticipated to see from him.

The village is scathed with fire and terror: burned buildings with its inhabitants shaken to the core over the consequences of their actions — and what would happen if they tried to put more children in the cage Suguru found them in. It’s not ethical, and surely you’d hear about it from the higher-ups in jujutsu society.

But for the girls wrapped up in yours and Suguru’s arms, you heart and soul knew it was worth it.

Megumi doesn’t get along with Nanako too well. But you’re sure you know why, with his red cheeks and all.

“You think he’ll ever say anything?” you ask your husband.

“Doubtful,” Suguru chuckles, “considering he was raised by Satoru.”

It’s been a rough ten years raising the twins. There’s been a long list of issues, struggles over the last several years that have really put your relationship with your now-husband to the test. From the elders to Suguru’s own conflicting ideals; from his own coping mechanisms to making sure you and his girls are well taken care of, and those are just a few to list. But fixing Satoru and Suguru’s friendship was by far the most difficult thing.

Riko’s death really did change them in the most awful ways.

“Satoru has only gotten crazier over the years,” you hum, agreeing. “I still can’t believe Satoru brought Sukuna’s vessel here.”

“I think you mean stupid, darling,” Suguru chuckles. “And did you know he gave Itadori a second finger?”

“Disgusting! All in true Satoru taste, too.”

“Hey! I can hear you two, you know!” the white-haired male complains.

“Good!” you shout back.

And cue Satoru’s crocodile tears. “Suguru really did marry a witch!”

You feel the veins in your head twitch with irritation. You’d always hated that damn nickname.

You moved to stand up to go and whack the shit out of the manchild, but your husband’s hand settled on your knee. You looked at him curiously, sitting back down.

“Sit,” he says. “Getting worked up like that isn’t good for you right now. Shoko said to keep it minimal for now, remember?”

You snort. “You’ve drilled it into me, Sugu.”

“Good. I’ll be back in a moment.”

His hand rests on your belly for moment, presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and then stands up to go and beat the shit out of his best friend to defend his wife’s honor.

And maybe to have some fun, too.

taglist: @vagabond-umlaut • @itzmeme • @dellalyra • @torusmochi

#geto suguru #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x you #geto x y/n #geto jjk #suguru geto #suguru x reader #jjk manga #jjk #jjk oneshot #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #geto imagines #geto drabbles #jjk geto #jjk geto suguru

570 notes · View notes

dumbkiri · 3 months

Text

𝐎𝐡, 𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ: ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜɴ ʀɪꜱᴇꜱ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

In order to be a gentle lady of a house, you need to be a woman of patience and tolerance. Control your emotions and do not let your words slip from your mouth so easily. Sit across your prospects with regal dignity and speak when spoken to.

Your mother and grandmother were no longer on this earth to guide you or to make a decision for you. So what do you do when you sit across from a man who so desperately wanted your hand, but you wanted nothing to do with him?

“We hope to hear an answer from you today, Ms. [L.Name].”

You slowly opened your eyes and hummed in thought. The chai mixed with coconut milk swirled around with the small spoon being its cause. Your hand stopped moving and you tapped the white spoon on the rim of the tea cup.

Could it be possible to decline one of the strongest families in Jujutsu society? You always pondered this question and your good friends, Shoko and Satoru, have told you many times that yes, you definitely can do that. You cleared your throat and set the spoon down on your small plate decorated with sweets.

“I thank you for your patience, Naobito-sama and Naoya-san. Yet I have trouble with making a decision that decides my future. As you both know, I inherited the blessed technique from my mother and it is considered, well, a blessing, to hold such a power.”

But they do not know that blessed energy erases all signs of cursed energy. You could never give the strong heirs they wanted to the Zen’in Family because your children will grow up to harness blessed energy, not cursed. You know for a fact that Naoya would beat you for keeping such a secret from him.

“I have to speak with all my prospects before I come up with any decision. Remember this meeting is to cement the choosing ceremony. We work out our deals here and now then when or if I choose your gift,” You gestured to Naoya with a smile on your clear face, “Our deal is made with one another. May we continue with the terms?”

Naobito sighed while his son was growing angered by the second you ignored the bribe they tried to get you to take. You wanted things to be fair, so you didn’t care for the gift that Naobito told you that Naoya would put in the choosing ceremony. Then you insisted that he choose a new gift or else you would blatantly refuse it once the day comes.

“Yes, we shall proceed. What we want most is strong heirs,”

You held back the roll of your eyes behind your light purple veil. It was made of the most intricate lace and you did not want them to catch any signs of your annoyance. It fit well with the white shawl that connected with the light purple kimono.

“Children with your blessed energy will give a new power to the Zen’in Family. With that being said, any and all heirs that you produce will be well taken care of.”

You took the cup in your hand and indulged in a sip of the cool drink. Then you set it back with a soft clink and replied back,

“Even if they are born females?”

You knew exactly what you were implying when you asked this question. You saw how badly the twins, Maki and Mai, were treated. And you hated every second you spent at the Zen’in’s seeing this harsh treatment. They were just little girls back then and they should be treated with the same respect.

“If they are girls,” Naobito put his hand under his chin and murmured to himself. Then he put his hand down and said, “I expect Naoya and you to produce a male first.”

Your shoulder shook from your giggles and you lifted your veil a bit to glare at Naobito, “You know as well as I do that we are not in control of that. If you cannot ensure my future daughters' well beings then there should be no further discussion, Naobito-sama.”

You shifted to the left and picked up a brass bell at the corner of the table. Before you could ring it, a hand had clamped down on your wrist and your eyes followed up the trail of the traditional kimono.

Naoya was glaring at you with a scowl on his face like he was trying to formulate his sentence to the best of his ability. Then his lips parted to say,

“I know that no matter what, you will produce a male first. You’re a strong woman and you hold a powerful energy that only female members can attain. When our son is born, he will not possess the blessed energy, but my cursed technique or a variation of it. Our daughter will inherit that ability to control blessed energy and if she comes to existence, she will be treated like her brother. You have my word.”

To put trust in his word would be like feeding yourself to the wolves. Nonetheless, you took your hand back and nodded your head to the deal, “I understand, Naoya-san. I will see you at the choosing ceremony.”

You rang the bell and your faithful servant, Tadashi, slid the door behind you open to allow the Zen’in’s to leave your home. Naobito and Naoya walked out while you held your head down as they passed by. Another servant guided them out of your home while Tadashi bowed his head before walking in the room.

You lifted up your veil and looked up at Tadashi who gave you a sympathetic look.

“Lady [Name], our grandfather would beat me with a stick seeing an expression like that on your face. He would scold me for not doing my job.”

This caused you to wipe the look and replace it with a tired smile, “Oh, Tadashi, what’s that saying our grandparents used to say to us when they caught us fighting? We would be at each other’s throats, do you remember that?”

Tadashi laughed with his chest and he kneeled down at your side, “I would like to forget those memories. Anyways, they told us, ‘There is always trouble in the night, but the sun rises every morning’.”

You rubbed your cheeks with the tip of your fingers and said, “Tadashi, whoever I go to, will you follow me? You’re the only family I have left and I cannot imagine myself surviving all alone.”

“Now we both know grandfather would rise from the grave if I do not follow you. Of course, anywhere you go, no matter how far, I will be right behind you.” Tadashi promised and he stood up to his full height. He walked out of the room and told you that there was one more prospect that would like to speak to you.

You cleared your throat and put your veil back down to cover the upper half of your face. Your eyes were hooded and you fixed your position. With a shaky hand, you rang the bell and waited for the man that would be making a deal with you.

“Ow, Maki, did you really have to bring a weapon with you?”

“Of course!”

“Did you see the way they glared at her? I would have brought a weapon too!”

“Salmon.”

The door slid open and you stared at your students with your mouth parted in surprise. You couldn’t believe that your students were here, especially on an important day. You wanted to scold them for doing this until you felt a very familiar cursed energy behind you.

“Good morning, earthworm! I decided to bring your favorite people to eat some lunch with you while you take a break from seeing those old men!”

You turned back around on your knees and pointed at Satoru with a worried glare, “What are you doing here? And you dragged our students to be here too? Do you know what this would look like? Like I’m not taking my marriage prospects seriously.”

Control your emotions. Be patient and tolerant. You chanted this a few times in your head then you focused back to the teenagers that awkwardly stood at the entrance of the room. You addressed all of them with a stern tone, “Did Naobito-sama and Naoya-san see you?”

Satoru shook his head furiously behind you and made a ‘X’ with his hands over his head.

Yuta rubbed the back of his neck and spoke up for his group, “Yeah and well, we weren’t accepted gracefully. B-but your servant, Tadashi, said it would be okay for us to have lunch with you! That Naoya was the second to last of your marriage…people…husbands?”

You rubbed your temple and called for Tadashi who immediately appeared in the room with his head bowed.

“And what of the last man, how long is he willing to wait? I don’t have time to eat with my students although I would love to. I do not want him waiting for too long, Tadashi.”

You didn’t want to reprimand Tadashi in front of your students, but these meetings needed to be taken seriously. The brown haired adult cleared his throat and gestured to the man at your table, “Excuse the terrible announcement, but Ms. [L.Name], Gojo Satoru is the last man. He was the one to suggest lunch with your students to make you comfortable.”

You could feel the confidence radiating off of Satoru’s body. You glanced at him from behind your veil and he was currently leaning on the palms of his hands. One leg was bent and the other stretched out to you from underneath the table.

“You can hide your eyes with that lace cloth, but your blush is very apparent.”

His words made the heat on your face even more unbearable and you looked away from him. Your right hand flew to your face and you cleared your throat, not wanting to make his words any truer than they already were.

“Well then, please sit down.” You told your students and they happily crowded the table. A spot was left free by your right side and you looked at Yuta oddly. Did he not want to sit close to you?

You had thought you and Rika settled your differences. Your questioning gaze took up Satoru’s attention and he smiled at your turmoil.

“I invited another to join us, but they’re running late.”

Yuta looked to his left and saw the scrutinizing squint you were giving him.

“I don’t want to get beat up, [L.Name]-sensei.”

Was all he said as an explanation then someone else barged into the room dumping his backpack onto the floor. You didn’t have time to greet the person because he dropped his body down next to you with a huff. Spiky hair blocked your vision as the person gave you a hug and greeting,

“Sorry, I’m late. Someone invited me an hour ago.”

Megumi pulled away with a grumble and glared at Satoru who snickered at him. You hugged the boy back and looked down at his attire. He was in his school uniform and it looked a bit tattered.

“Megumi, did you get into a fight?”

The boy ignored your look and pulled away from your loving hands that skimmed over his face that was slowly forming bruises. So this is what Yuta meant. He was afraid Megumi was going to beat him up.

“What a silly notion.”

You chuckled and servants flooded the room with food on plates. You let Megumi enjoy the food as did the rest of your students. They were very interested in what you had to say about your whole ordeal.

“I just hope my future husband is…I don’t know.”

You deflated and thought back to your prospects. None of them were truly nice to you and all they cared about was the blessed energy you had.

“It’s hard to know that I’m the last one in my family with a technique that every family wants to grab a hold of. The thing is, they don’t know the important downside of marrying a [L.Name] that has blessed energy.”

You drank more of your tea and explained further with your head down in shame, “Any heirs I produce will not be able to have cursed techniques. Carrying the babe for nine months will erase anything they inherit from their father. My sons will become protectors of their sisters. Like how Tadashi is my protector.”

“W-why not just tell them that?”

Yuta stuttered and he yelped when Maki smacked the back of his head. Then she picked up her bowl of rice saying, “She’s the last of her lineage, idiot. Why do you think that is?”

Yuta looked around the table for an answer and you handed over some beef to Megumi’s plate which he took gratefully. You spoke softly and said to Yuta,

“My family was assassinated one night. All my cousins, aunts and uncles. Even my mother, who was the holder of Nami’s Miracle, our ancestor from the Heian Period, died that night. Tadashi, at the time, slept in the room next to me and he heard the commotion first and woke me up. As stated before, a male [L.Name] is assigned as a protector and he was mine. He dragged me out of my room and hid the both of us in this room.”

You closed your eyes and sighed, “My mother died because she was the reincarnation of Nami. They killed her because Nami was Sukuna’s, how do I put this?”

Your two students, Maki and Panda, and Megumi spoke up all at once.

“Slave.”

“Wife.”

“Concubine.”

This earned a forced smile from you, “Yes, all those. They were afraid that Nami would overtake my mother’s soul and I don’t know, betray everyone? The only reason why I lived was because Nami’s Miracle was passed down to me with a ritual after my mother took her last breath. They believe that I could be controlled by their authority, they weren’t wrong about that. I am indulging in their marriage proposals.”

“And if you tell them that your future children cannot inherit cursed techniques, what’ll happen?” Yuta innocently asked, he wasn’t in the mood to eat anymore.

“Nothing will happen to her,” Megumi grumbled, stuffing rice into his mouth as he chewed angrily. Even thinking about harm or death coming to you made his blood boil. “They won’t lay a hand on her.” The 13 year old boy boldly stated and swallowed his food with a drink of his water.

“He’s right,” Maki chimed in, “[L.Name]-sensei will be protected by us, no matter who she marries. You better let us know if they hurt you, got it?” She directed the question at you and accepted her words. Your students were too precious for their own good.

“Hey, this is my proposal, not yours,” Satoru leaned over the table with an elbow propped up and his chin in his hand. He tilted his head from his students then to you. Despite his blindfold and your thin veil, he stared straight into your eyes. You could feel the way he drank your appearance up.

“I don’t care if our sons become protectors of their sisters. But that’s because I believe that our sons will still get something out of being their protector. After all, we are the strongest sorcerers, the same will go for our children.”

Children. Not heirs.

“But if they don’t?” You straightforwardly asked.

Satoru hummed and put his chin in his hand puffing out his cheeks for dramatics. Then he raised his arms up and said happily, “Well then, they’ll have my good looks! Come on, eat up! I made sure Tadashi had the servants in the kitchen cook your favorites along with Megumi’s.”

Megumi swallowed his current piece of food and pointed a death glare at his guardian, “I deserve this after you sent me a late invite. I swear you like to see me fail.”

“Nope!” Satoru shouted and picked up a sweet delicacy, “I just love to prove how much you love your dear mother figure!”

You giggled at Megumi’s staunch commitment with his words, “I will choose her infinitely over you as a father figure.”

“That’s enough from you both,” You hugged Megumi into your side as you winked at Satoru trying to appeal to the white haired male. But his feelings were hurt by the young boy.

“Excuse you, I’m the one who found you in the dumpster,” Satoru said offhandedly.

This caused Yuta to look at Megumi with wide eyes, “Wait, Megumi was found in a dumpster?”

“Yep! Discarded like he was nothing and I had to be the one to find him!” Satoru leaned back on his palms again while Megumi slammed his hand on the table. Some of the silverware and dishes clinked against one another,

“No, I wasn’t found in the dumpster! Also you’re the one who approached me with a weird looking face! [Name] was the only one out of the two of you that was approachable!” Megumi shouted in defiance.

It was at this moment you wished you could stop time. You were surrounded by people you loved and who loved you back. Megumi and your students filled parts of you that your family should have if they were still alive.

You watched silently as Megumi and Satoru argued with your hands in your lap. Maki and the boys grinning at the silly scene that radiated a comfortable environment for all.

If you were married to Naoya, you know that moments spent with your newfound family would be no more. Maki was a discarded Zen’in and Megumi…well he was under the care of you and Satoru. Your other students were also going to be turned away.

Your eyes fluttered over to Satoru and you saw the way he slightly turned his head to you. He closed his mouth holding back his retort and shouted shifting to a different target, “Maki, you won’t believe this, but Panda and Yuta lost Playful Cloud!”

“They what!”

“That’s not true! He's lying!”

It was a diversion so Satoru could speak to you alone over the table while Megumi joined in the teens yelling at one another.

“You’re nervous.”

This statement from Satoru was true.

“Of course, I am. This week is the choosing ceremony and the holidays are coming up. I will be with my husband celebrating Christmas with him for the first time…if he celebrates it.”

You said all this with a dejected tone. Meanwhile, Satoru listened diligently to your words, spoken and unspoken. He knew you were concerned over the life you had now and what would be taken away once you marry.

Satoru hummed and leaned over the table again, but this time he was much closer to you. Carefully, he reached his hands out and pinched the end of your veil and pulled it over your head.

“He was right to call you pretty girl this entire time,” Satoru whispered.

Your breath hitched and your heart ached from the mention of an old friend. Pretty girl was a nickname Suguru Geto honored you with while Satoru stuck with earth worm because of your love for gardening.

“Satoru, I might do something stupid if I marry Naoya. Like jumping off of a bridge,” You looked down and missed the way Satoru’s body tensed up.

“Don’t worry, everything will be okay,” He pulled away and the veil slipped down once his fingers released the fabric, “ because I promise that I will be your husband.”

This declaration rang with truth, you could feel the shivers run down you back once the words left his mouth. Yeah, it would be a blessing to marry your high school crush.

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Read the original series here under the title called "The Wife of Gojo Satoru"

#x reader #anime imagine #manga imagine #x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #Oh My Beloved

159 notes · View notes

rinhaler · 3 months

Text

We Can Sit and Talk, Baby, Get It Off

CHAPTER SUMMARY : you can't sleep, and neither can the unexpected guest you find drinking your dad's whiskey in the kitchen.

boyfriend!yuuji itadori x f!reader x bully!megumi fushiguro

WARNINGS : 18+ only, consensual sex, sleepy slow sex, praise kink, sleeping difficulties, alcohol consumption, smoking, panic attack mention, drugs mention, family drama, arranged marriage mention, bullying.

WORDS : 5.7k

notes : bc i love u guys :3

LAST CHAPTER┊MASTERLIST ┊ NEXT CHAPTER

The whole car ride home was spent giggling and laughing with Yuuji. You sang along to the cheesy pop songs on the radio and slurped the remaining dregs out of your milkshake. There was so much food still left from your order, but Yuuji had an amazing idea. You should heat it up at home and watch a movie in your room.

It's around 11:45pm when you return, you know your parents will be in bed already. You stumble in quietly, still chuckling like children until you find the kitchen and get to work on heating up the food.

It doesn’t take long.

You get some unsavoury looks from the butler; but he isn’t paid to comment or judge so he lets you continue. You stay as quiet as you can as you go upstairs and pick a movie. Yuuji can barely keep his eyes open but he somehow makes it to the end.

The poor boy had an eventful day, he's full of food and ready to sleep. But it isn’t so easy for you. Now that you're back here, everything that happened today is playing on your mind.

Naoya and Megumi are related… And now, they both hate you.

This could only end badly.

Your thoughts are keeping you awake. You toss and turn and can’t seem to get comfortable. Watching Yuuji sleep soundly would almost be infuriating if he didn’t look so adorable. The room plunges into darkness. Black as night and you can barely see your hand in front of your face. You debate getting up, and decide you can’t take lying like this anymore when it was clear you wouldn’t be getting an ounce of sleep unless you black out from exhaustion. The curtains are shut tightly, no wonder it’s so dark in here. You open them ever so slightly to discover the window is shut too. You push it open as far as it can go, an involuntary grunt fleeing from your lungs. Your eyes screw shut as you heard Yuuji stir awake.

“What are you doing?” he wonders. His voice heavy and gritty with sleep. He groggily rubs his eyes and sits upright to look at you.

“Can’t sleep.” you admit.

“Come here.” he tells you. He lies back down on his side as he waits for you to join him. He covers your body with the duvet while you nestle your body against his, your ass on his crotch while your back rests securely against his chest. He coos in your ear, shushing you softly, telling you to close your eyes. You do as you're told and you're rewarded with gentle, feather light kisses on your neck and shoulder. “Want me to help you sleep?” he wonders.

“Mhmm…”

“Take your shorts off.” he instructs.

Your fingers quickly hook into the waistband of your silk shorts you're wearing to pull them off your body. You never wear panties to bed, apparently it’s healthier to do that. When you lie back against Yuuji, he helps you out of your matching silk vest, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable to his touch.

You lift your body a little so he can put an arm underneath you and toy with your breasts. His big fingers alternate which nipple they tug and tease at. The contact is heavenly. You mewl instantly and he continues peppering your neck and shoulder with sweet innocent kisses. His other hand finds its way to your clit. He explores your folds and decides you aren’t nearly wet enough to take him.

“You need my fingers first, okay baby?”

“Yes… Yuuji please, give them to me.” you hum.

You gasp softly as two of his fingers poke around your entrance. His hand flies to your mouth before you can cry out from them both stretching you open. He hushes you some more, you nod in acceptance. The last thing you need is your parents chewing you out for fucking too loudly and disrupting all of the guests staying the night. He shoves his fingers inside of you, expertly working your g-spot. You writhe against him, but he keeps you secure as he holds his arm just below your breasts. He played with your sensitive tits continuously.

You can’t keep still.

He's driving you crazy.

“Yuuji…” you whimpered.

“Not yet.” he almost warns you. It's disappointing, but you suppose he knows best. He’s doing this for you after all. He doesn’t want to hurt you, it’s meant to feel good.

It’s meant to be fun.

He pulls his fingers out of you before flicking your clit lightly.

You shudder at that.

He quickly inserts his fingers again and he feels just how much slick pumps out of you from the gentle attention to your bundle of nerves. “That’s my girl, that’s it.” he tells you. He finger fucks you for a little while longer. Tears are streaming down your face. He’s hammering at your insides so perfectly and at such a consistent rate. You think you’re going to burst.

“Y-Yuuji!” you cry. He can feel you tensing up. He can feel how badly you want it, how close you are to letting yourself go for him.

You sob a little at the loss of fullness in your hole.

But you’re excited again when you feel him shuffling around.

He’s pulling his boxers off. He lines himself up with your slot. The tip of his shaft is practically sucked in by your eager cunt. “Oh fuuuuck,”

“Quiet princess, gotta be quiet for me.” he sinks deeper into you and you feel tears roll down onto your pillow. He begins to roll his hips slowly. “Are you crying?”

“A little,” you admit. You sniff and turn your head as best you can. He begins wiping your tears away and kisses you chastely. “just feels so good Yuuji, I love you.” you tell him.

“Sh, shhh baby. I love you too. I’ve got you it’s okay.” he hushes as he continues rutting into you.

You turn back so that he's spooning you while he fucks you.

It's so perfect.

He fills you up so deliciously you're worried what it will feel like when he removes himself from you. It feels like home to feel him inside of you.

It isn’t rough, heated sex.

It's slow, it's messy, and it's so passionate. He trails wet kisses on your neck. You reach a hand back searching for his; and he finds you.

He interlocks his fingers with yours and you weep a little more. You grind your hips against him slowly, trying to meet his lazy strokes. He carries on holding your hand, but brings both of your fingers closer to your cunt. He uses his two strongest fingers to draw tired circles into your clit. You moan instantly and he grunts gaudily as he feels your insides squeeze him.

“Y-Yuuji. Oh God, Yuuji ‘m gonna—”

“Me too, fuck. Baby, cum with me. Cum with me princess.” he demands.

You cum with a quiet whine. You pant and pant through your high as you continue backing up against Yuuji. He cums right after you. He fills your pretty pussy nicely with his thick creamy seed.

It's so warm and heavenly. It feels nice and snug inside of your wet walls. Yuuji fills the late night air with obscenities as he pumps his heavy load into you. He pulls out of you and you could feel his cum dribble out and onto the sheets below you.

You roll over, smothering him in a brutal, unforgiving kiss.

“That was the best sex we’ve ever had.” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I’m serious. It was so romantic.” you tell him. He brings your face closer to his again so he can kiss you more.

“Are you tired yet?” he questions.

“A little, but I need to go to the toilet first.” you remind him. He shuffles more onto his back and rests his head comfortably into the pillows.

“Go on, hurry up so we can go to bed.”

You do as you're told, legs taking you to the en-suite as quickly as possible for you to pee.

You wash your hands and come back out to find Yuuji fast asleep and snoring lightly. You smile, clambering into bed beside him. You wrap an arm around him and allow sleep to take over your body.

To say you're furious when you wake up would be an understatement.

Your eyes open and you assume it's morning. But when you look to the sky and see it's still pitch black your heart stops.

You roll over to check your phone. A few hours must have gone by at least.

Nope. Thirty minutes.

In fact; it's been 27 minutes if you want to be technical about it. You couldn’t even manage to sleep for thirty fucking minutes before you're wide awake again.

Fuck it, you think to yourself.

You go to the bathroom to splash water on your face before finding the most over the top dressing gown that your mother had also gifted you for your stay. It's sheer material with gorgeous pink fluff on the edges.

It's so dramatic, it hits the floor and trails behind you.

But it’s not often you get to feel this glamorous.

You might as well embrace your pretentious roots while you’re here. You slide on your matching fluffy pink slippers and sneak out of the room, doing your best to be quiet so that you don't wake Yuuji.

You wander the pitch black hallways.

There's no particular destination in mind. Your feet lead you around the manor. You explore rooms you hadn’t even noticed; and corridors you didn’t even know existed.

But still, through all your adventuring, you find yourself atop the main staircase. You're planning to turn around and go back to bed with Yuuji, however the sound of clinking and rustling downstairs piques your interest.

Could somebody be stealing?

Which one of your mother’s guests is causing such a ruckus?

You step down each platform quietly, not wanting to scare the disruptive presence away. The light in the kitcheb shines brightly, and you turn the corner to stand in the door way.

Of course.

Broad shoulders, a toned back and just above shoulder length black hair.

Who else would it be?

None of the other guests would be such a nuisance, so rude, and make themselves so at home in a house that is not their own.

Toji turns around slamming a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler on the kitchen island.

“Oh fuck—!” he startles as he notices you staring at him. “Scared the shit out of me, darlin’.” he tells you.

“Do you have permission to be helping yourself to my father’s alcohol?” you smirk, the simple expression on your face allows Toji to know that you, in actual fact, don’t care what he does with your dads booze.

“Not in so many words,” he begins, cracking open the bottle lid and pouring himself a drink. “But your folks are always so generous with their hospitality.” he teases. He drinks the whiskey like a shot. He slams the tumbler against the counter top so hard a little bit of excess liquid splashes out.

“Help yourself Toji,” you smile. Your slippers shuffle irritatingly across the kitchen tiles as you walk towards the freezer to get yourself some ice cold water.

“Hey,” Toji speaks, the word comes from the depth of his lungs. The volume commands your body to turn to face him. “Want some?” he wonders, shaking around the bottle of whiskey with a wicked grin on his face. “Oh wait, you’re a borin’ good girl who don’t drink nothin’, right?” he teases.

“Right.” you nod.

“I’m sure it’ll help you sleep… That’s why you’re down here, right? Havin’ trouble sleeping?” he guesses, and correctly at that.

You nod, but you raised an eyebrow. Your scepticism is obvious.

“Will it? Really?” you wonder. He shrugs his shoulder and his expression turns to unknowing. But before you give an answer with words, he assumes that your question is acceptance. He grabs another tumbler and slams it down beside the one he’d been using.

“Worth a try.”

You do accept his offer.

And as a result, you find yourself with a tumbler glass in one hand. Toji leads you out of the kitchen by gripping tightly onto the flesh of your arm. You aren’t sure where he was taking you. But he expertly holds his own glass as well as the whiskey bottle in one hand. His grip is bruising, but you're too tired to care.

You find yourself in a cosy little study room.

Presumably your father’s.

It's like a cosy den, a man cave.

He has one of those retro globe drink cabinets beside his desk. Toji lights the logs in the fireplace and the room instantly feels even cosier. You sit opposite each other on the two red leather armchairs while you sip casually at your drinks.

You kick your fluffy sliders off to let your feet feel how soft the white fur rug is on the ground. Sleepy eyes are drawn to a dart board on the opposite side of the room.

It makes you smile.

You remember your father holding you high as a child in his arms so you could play with the dart board in the old house.

“What’re you smilin’ about?” Toji wonders. Your smile drops as your attention is brought back to him.

“Nothing, really.” you shake your head.

“Yuuji?”

“No.”

He hums. Toji takes a swig from his drink and nods in acceptance. This is painful. It's so awkward.

Why does he want to sit here with you?

Why does he want to drink with you?

The alcohol is making your stomach feel raw, but you're somehow finding the strength to ignore it. You clear your throat and look to the crackling fire beside you.

“Do you love him?” he asks you. “Yuuji, I mean.”

“Uh, yeah? I do, very much. Why?”

“Are you the reason he hates Megumi now? Did ya do somethin’ to make him angry at my son?” Toji ponders aloud. You scoff at that. He really has no idea.

Toji has zero fucking clue about his son, and what a monster he is.

“I didn’t do anything.” you hiss before downing the remainder of your drink. You tilt your glass towards Toji, indicating that you want it to be filled again. “He’s been making my life a living hell at uni, y’know? He’s sick. He’s fucking evil.” you alert him.

A parents love for their children is limitless.

You’re sure your claim will go down like a lead balloon.

“Heh, what’d he do? Scowl at you for too long? He’s all bark ‘n no bite that kid, he’s just—”

“Oh he can bite. In the one week that he decided he hated me, he spiked my drink on a night out and I was blacked out for almost two days. That’s what he did. And that is why I’ve been avoiding drinking.” you inform him. His grip loosens on his glass, but it doesn’t fall from his hand. His scar pulls as his lip turns to a scowl, his eye twitches in irritation. “You don’t believe me…” you sigh, “That’s fine. Yuuji believes me, that’s all I—”

“What else?”

“Huh?”

“What else, tell me what else.” Toji asks.

It's quiet.

But the type of quiet that spoke volumes.

He does believe you. You stutter, hesitate. You aren’t really sure what to tell him, or if you should tell him. But he urges you to speak. He needs you to continue. So you do.

You tell him the names he called you on the first day you met him, the vile things he said. You tell him about how you thought all was forgiven when you went out to eat together, but he flipped on you again and destroyed your sketchbook.

And you explain the club incident in gory detail, everything that you could remember and then everything else that you’d been told. You hum and haw over whether you should tell him about his inappropriate touches towards you too. But you’ve come this far, there's no point hiding anything now.

The way he touched your thighs. How he caged you in beneath him. How he dry humped you in the club when he was bullying you.

Toji puts his drink down. His elbows dig into his thighs and he covers his face with his hands.

He's breathing.

Just, breathing.

You don’t know what to do, what to say. So you say nothing.

You wait. And wait. He sits back upright and lets his body sink into the back of the leather chair. He rakes his fingers through his hair a few times before looking for something in his pockets.

Cigarettes.

He sparks up.

Your father would be furious if he knew, but you aren't in a rush to tell him. And you don’t have the heart to tell him no, to object. He lets the tar coat his lungs before exhaling.

He looks sick.

“He draws you; you know. A lot.” you inform him.

“S’that right?” he speaks, puffing out a plume of toxic smoke.

“Yeah. That’s why he hates me, I think.” you add, taking another drink of your whiskey to wet your dry mouth. Toji’s interest is piqued. He raises his eyebrows as he takes another drag of his cigarette. “Both times I complimented his drawings of you in class, that is when he switched on me.”

Toji’s brows knit. He pinches the bridge of his nose while he holds his cigarette carefully between two fingers. The smoke dances and twirls beautifully as it ascends up to the ceiling like a delicate ribbon. He mutters something.

You don’t quite catch it.

But when you replay his lip movements in your mind, when you really focus on what he just mouthed in your head, you think he said sorry.

“He had a panic attack in my car on Friday,” Toji admits, he takes another puff of his cigarette and picks his whiskey back up.

Really? Megumi?

He doesn’t seem like the type to have panic attacks.

“Breathin’ weird, threw up, even cried a little. The full works.” he carries on. He stubs out his cigarette and tops up his drink.

He needs it.

Those same demons that Megumi tried to drown so desperately in the car that day are his demons too.

He’d inherited them from his very own father.

“That must have been hard for you.” you speak, attempting to sympathise. But you couldn’t deny that you felt smug, happy almost, that Megumi is suffering.

“You know what he told me?” Toji asks you, and you shake your head. “He told me he’s fucked up. He told me he was a fucked up teenager, and he’s even more fucked up now.” he says. Toji’s breathing is erratic. You can see his hand trembling a little as he drums his fingers against his knee.

He can’t handle it.

He needs another cigarette, just one more, one more to settle his nerves.

“Then what happened?”

“I told him he’s not fucked up!” he responds, a little too loudly. He slicks his hair back a little before speaking again. “Well, I told him he isn’t the only one. Everyone’s a little fucked up, right? I told him even I’m fucked up. But he probably already knew that, huh?” he tells you. His foot tapping furiously against the ground as he smokes some more.

You slowly shuffle from the chair to the floor. You crawl over to him and sit by his feet. Like a little animal curling up to its master.

Why are you so drawn to him?

It's nice, he is nice.

He's like an authority figure who actually takes you seriously. Someone who listens to you. Someone who believes you and doesn’t want to treat you like a puppet for his own personal gain.

“But he is fucked, isn’t he? What he did to you is my fault.” he continues you. You rest your hand on his knee and shake your head. But he nods, because what he's saying is true. He blows smoke in your direction.

“He just has some issues clearly, you did the best you could. You didn’t make him bully me Toji.” you tell him.

“Has anyone told you his mother died? My wife, when he was little.” he wonders. You shake your head. “Yeah. I loved her, so it killed me too. So I left him.”

“You—”

“I abandoned my tiny son who needed me so I could do drugs and drink like a lunatic. I couldn’t cope, but it’s not an excuse. I never even apologised to him.” he fills you in, he's coming dangerously close to finishing another cigarette.

You're at a loss for words.

It is his fault.

How could a human being expect to be anything other than fucked up with what Megumi has been through? And to not even receive an apology for it.

Fuck, do you feel sorry for him?

“Well, I said sorry when he was having his panic attack but it wasn’t real. I’ve never claimed to be anything other than a piece of shit so I don’t know what he expects from me.”

“Maybe he expects you to be a decent father and learn from your mistakes, Toji.” you hiss. He laughs at that.

“Y’got me there darlin’.”

You want to stand up. But your liver hurts and you're exhausted. Maybe you’ll just sleep here.

You can crawl back to the armchair, right?

You're finally tired, so tired that you don’t have the strength to make it back to your own bed. Your forehead rests on Toji’s knee. And he smirks when he hears light snores rise from your throat.

He’ll carry you to bed when he’s finished. You’ll be okay here for a little while. He needs more alcohol in him.

He needs to think everything over.

His ears prick when he hears the sound of creaking floorboards drawing closer to the room. Toji is too fucking calm, how could he be so willing to risk being seen with you like this? There's a knock at the door, and when Toji doesn’t respond, they welcome themselves in.

“What the fuck is this?” Megumi asks, staring at your sleeping form, your pretty little head resting sweetly on his knee.

You don’t wake up.

Toji grits his teeth as he looks at his son, his little monster.

“Shut your fucking mouth kid,”

“Have you been drinking together? I’m not shocked, fuckin’ alcoholic piece of shit.” Megumi bites. Toji’s tongue runs along the top of his teeth and he sucks, unsure of what to do now that his devil child is in front of him. Why is he even here? “Knew she was a slut, did she fall asleep sucking you off?”

Toji taps your shoulder lightly and your eyes fluttered open. He grips that very same shoulder when you squeal and back into his legs when you notice Megumi's presence.

Toji shushes you.

Megumi is clever and likes to do everything to you behind closed doors. He’d never risk doing anything in front of a witness, God forbid anyone believe you about his torment over you.

But it's too late.

Toji already does.

“I’ll walk you to your room sweetheart, c’mon.” Toji tells you as he helped you to your feet. Megumi scoffs at that.

“Are you fuckin’ serious Toji? What the hell is going on?”

When Toji is close enough to Megumi he points a finger in his sons face and snarls. He’s furious with him. Through all of each other’s faults, through all of Megumi’s hatred of him, he at least thought his son was a decent person.

They could tolerate each other for a set amount of time. Megumi is smart, he’s calm and collected most of the time except where his father is concerned. But Toji is looking at him now, and he sees himself staring right back.

Megumi is fucked. And Toji is fucked, too.

“I’m takin’ her to bed. I am goin’ to bed. And I don’t give a fuck what you do, but I don’t wanna see that pathetic face of yours until I take you home in the morning. Stay the fuck out of my way.” Toji answers him.

He barges past him with you in tow. Your heart is racing.

It's incredible.

Yuuji stands up for you whenever he can, but Megumi always manages to keep a level head. He's never intimidated. But now, right now when you turn to face him, he looks broken. His eyes are the widest you’ve ever seen them and his jaw is clenched.

Megumi is scared.

Megumi is afraid.

Toji did that. He did that to him. And it makes you… smile.

He brings you to your room and tells you to try and get some rest. There are only a few hours you can squeeze in before you have to start getting ready to leave in the morning. You hold onto the door handle. But before you pull it and walk inside your room, you turn to face him again.

“Why are you here?” you ask, curiosity taking over you.

He smirks.

The type of smirk that told you he's about to say something you don’t want to hear.

But his eyes find yours, and he takes a deep breath.

“I didn’t know you were dating anyone, especially not Yuuji for that matter.” he begins. “It’s pretty obvious your parents don’t like him. Are they tryna keep it under wraps?” he wonders.

“Big time.” you nod.

“I’ll be honest sweetheart, I invited Megumi here too. I was gonna try and push the idea of marrying you both off so I could marry myself into some money.” he informs you. You felt your blood begin to bubble.

Seriously, what fucking century do all of these people you’re surrounded by think you’re in?

First Naoya with his ‘women should be seen and not heard’ notion. And now Toji thinking you’d ever agree to an arranged marriage, with anyone, let alone Megumi.

But your breathing slows as you examine his features.

You’d considered him an authority figure you could trust. Someone who didn’t want to use you as a puppet for their own personal gain. They were the exact thoughts you had in your father’s office.

And now, he's just blown that trust up with his stupid confession in seconds.

But the longer you look at him, you think… At least he’s honest. And at least he listened to you, believed you.

“It’s okay.” you tell him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, pushing the door open so that it's slightly ajar. You face him once more with a smile on your face, “You’ve never claimed to be anything other than a piece of shit, right?” you tease. He laughs a little, acknowledging your call back to his previous words.

“Right.” he agrees.

“Goodnight Toji.”

“G’night princess.”

Yuuji slept so soundly, he didn’t even realised you’d left and come back hours later.

He wakes up feeling refreshed and packs everything in your room as quickly as he can. The man is desperate to get out of here and return to normality. He smiles at your sleepy, tired body as you do your best to pull on a pair of leggings and a big baggy top. You want to be comfy for the car ride home.

Maybe you’ll be able to sleep for a few hours, too.

You do one last check of the bathroom to make sure you didn’t forget anything and then zip your case securely. Yuuji carries on doing a sweep of the room to be certain nothing of his gets left behind, and he still needs to get dressed.

“I’m gonna go and say goodbye to my parents.” you tell Yuuji.

You're about to head down the stairs when you felt a fist ball into your t-shirt and yank you backwards. Your back is against the wall and you can feel your heartbeat in your ears. You’ve been in this exact position one too many times with Megumi before.

He settles a hand on your shoulder to pin you in place while the other rests on your hip, his knee found comfort between your thighs. It's a little too close to your heat; but Megumi is too close to you all together.

“Someone has been interfering and running to tell tales to my dad.” he speaks, the tone telling you everything you need to know.

You aren’t sure if Toji has told him or if he's worked it out all on his own.

And yet, while you're shaking, while you're terrified that no one will come to your rescue and protect you from him again, a wave of power surges through you. Your fists ball into his shirt. That alone catches him off guard.

What has happened to you?

You take the fleeting chance to spin him around, pinning him against the wall.

“I’m not fucking scared of you anymore Fushiguro,” you begin. He tries to shove you away but you push against him harder, “you’re just so desperate for daddy’s approval aren’t you? Want him to want you so badly. I know everything about you now, and he knows you better than he ever has before.” you say calmly with a smile on your face.

“Shut the hell up—”

“You’re just sad, lonely, pathetic. And I repeat, I’m not scared of you anymore Megumi.” you inform him.

You turn to walk away, but he grabs your wrist and forces you against the wall once more. He’s red in the face, a particularly lively vein pulses by his temple.

You’ve done it now. Fuck, you’ve really done it now.

Your eyes screw shut as you prepare for whatever he's about to do to you.

He is scary and intimidating. But you can at least take pride in knowing no matter how hard he tries to keep you down you’ll always get up.

But when both of his hands cup your face and his lips find yours, your breath hitches in your throat. It’s hard and strong, but no tongue. His eyes are closed and yours fly open. You raise your hand, your palm claps against his cheek and his whole face turns away from you. You shove him backwards with so much force his back connects with the wall opposite to the one you’re against. Both of you pant and catch your breaths in the particularly echoey corridor.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” you ask. He doesn’t answer. He’s still panting. Using the back of his hand to wipe away the dampness on his lips.

His eyes find yours again, and he’s lost.

He’s lost in them.

Lost in you.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Do us all a favour and get the therapy you desperately need.” you finish as you finally manage to escape him and descend the stairs.

What was that all about?

You think you better wait until you leave to tell Yuuji what happened.

In fact, you aren’t sure whether you should tell him at all. Your parents stand in the driveway as they watch Yuuji drive around and leave the manor.

He’s happy.

You’re happy.

You’re going home!

This nightmare is finally over.

Megumi stands in the doorway as he watches you leave. Part of him wants some fresh air, but he could have went in the garden for that.

He’s fuming at himself.

Why did he do that?

Why the fuck did he kiss you?

He needs to find Naoya. Whatever his sinister little plan is for revenge on you, he needs to get himself in on it. What he just did will be forgotten, he’ll get himself back on his sadistic little horse. And you’ll both be able to forget that he forced his lips onto you. When he turns around to find his uncle, he’s greeted to the sight of his father instead.

“Move.” Megumi commands. Toji crouches down so he’s eye level with his son. That all too familiar wicked, scar pulling grin etched on his face once more.

“You better leave that girl alone.” he instructs.

“Or what? You’re fucking off to wherever you go for months at a time tomorrow, so you aren’t in any position to stop me.” Megumi boasts, preparing to walk away from him once more.

“Wrong.”

“Huh?”

“Wrong, Megumi. Wrong. I’m fuckin’ movin’ in with you and Tsumiki so I can keep an eye on ya. Ya sick fuck. She told me everythin’. Fucks wrong with you?” Toji alerts him.

Megumi feels his stomach sink. Really? He’s really sticking around?

“She’s a fucking attention seeker, she’s lying to you.” Megumi fibs. The elder Fushiguro shakes his head. Toji gets in his face, real fucking close. So close that Megumi is almost drunk from the smell of last nights whiskey on his lips.

“You. Are. Fucked.” Toji tells him, his face becoming more serious so Megumi knows he isn’t playing around. He couldn’t, he shouldn’t say that to his own son. But he’s right. Toji needs to let him know, he needs to help him get better. Maybe helping his son will help him too.

“You made me, Toji.”

“If I see or find out you’ve done anything to that poor girl, I’ll break your fuckin’ knee caps. Hear me? In fact I might fuckin’ kill you. No wonder Yuuji wanted to rip your throat out.” Toji jeers through his teeth. Megumi can’t believe it.

He's showing more care and adoration for a complete stranger than he had to him his whole pathetic existence.

“Get out of my way.” Megumi relents. Eager to escape his father’s intense glare.

“Nah, we’ve been summoned.” Toji notifies him. Megumi’s eyebrow raises as his full attention returns to his father.

“Summoned? What for?”

“Zen’in clan wants to talk to us,” Toji explains as he slips a cigarette between his scarred lips, “They wanna talk to the princess’ parents too.”

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